


His Other Half

by EliMiguel



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Lies, Love, Loyalty, M/M, Post canon, Psychic Abilities, Two men in love, intruders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliMiguel/pseuds/EliMiguel
Summary: An old woman once told Marcus that he would come to know great love and great happiness as his soul reunited with its other half. He would know he'd come into their presence when his heart lost its rhythm; that happened the day his eyes first saw Esca walk out onto the sands of the arena. The problem is... the old woman said Marcus' other half was a woman, not a man.





	1. The Old Woman

Marcus had spent the last couple of years waiting for the promise that had been made him.

The promise was made by an old woman one night, in Jerusalem, as Marcus was toasted and celebrated by officers of the Tenth Fretensis, after his promotion to Centurion was announced.

The old woman, dressed in rags, had walked into the tavern and made her way around the room asking the patrons if any wished to know what their future held? Some of the men had pushed her away as she neared them, others had heard her predictions and then pushed her away.

But one of the officers at Marcus’ table had called her over. “Let us see what the Fates have in store for you, my friend.”

“Do not tell me you believe in the lies this old thief has to tell Caius?” Lucius Valerius Remus, Primus Pilus of the Second Cohort, chided his friend and superior.

“Yes, I most certainly do, Lucius. This old woman predicted, not only my rise to Tribunus laticlavius, after the revolt, but she predicted my daughter Caia’s first child would be a son, and her second would die at birth.” Caius Marcellus Otho replied. 

The old woman approached and smiled at Caius Marcellus, recognizing him immediately. “How may I serve you, sir?” She offered humbly.

“Majdalin, tell my young friend, Marcus, here, his future.” The old woman drew close to Marcus and extended her hand in an invitation for him to place his own hand, palm side up, in hers.

Marcus laughed and shook his head. “Save your money, sir… I am not a believer in these self-professed soothsayers.”

“Do not judge her until you have heard what she has to say, my young friend.”

The old woman took Marcus’ hand, turned it palm side up, and began to read past the lines and callouses. She hmmm’ed took his left hand and searched it in the same way; then she went back to his right hand and began to speak.

“You carry a great sadness… a great sadness.” Marcus looked up from his hand and smirked at Caius Marcellus. “There is something lost to you, sir... You are alone in the world, yes?” An annoyed Marcus nodded once as though the woman’s words held little importance to him.

“A great triumph awaits you… something that will mark you above all other men… honor and glory shall be yours and your name shall bear great weight.” Suddenly the old woman’s words caught Marcus’ attention and he asked what she meant by this “great triumph.”

“The gods do not show me that, sir. The deed is beyond the mist… it is hidden from my sight….I cannot see everything, but I do see a golden emblem… an eagle, yes… a golden eagle is perched above your head and that signifies glory and wealth.”

Lucius Valerius began to laugh, “Glory and wealth, eh? Then I best keep myself in your good graces, Marcus.”

“But… I also see great suffering… pain…another loss, but an even greater loss than the one I see now.” At this Marcus’ brow furroughed and his body tensed. Noting his reaction, the old woman tapped the top part of his hand and reassured him with a smile.

“This suffering will last only a short while for great happiness will take its place.” This time the old woman offered Marcus a wide smile and Marcus returned with a cordial one of his own.

“And love… I see love…. a great love.”

“Aha!”

“Be quiet, Lucius.” The Tribunus laticlavius ordered. “…I am certain Marcus wishes to hear this more than anything else that has been said to him.”

“The stars aligned at the moment of your birth and hers. Your gods, knowing the suffering you both would have to endure in your lives, granted you the mercy of reuniting your souls… your other half, if you will.”

“And how will he know her from all the others?” Lucius Valerius blurted out.

“He will know. His soul will cry out to its other half, over joyed that they are finally one, his heart will understand…. look for the woman with fair hair, pale skin, and eyes the color of water…when your heart begins to lose its timely rhythm, you will know you are in the presence of your other half.”

“Perhaps that is the reason your petition to be stationed in Britannia was so overwhelmingly approved; divine intervention, if you will.” Asserted Caius Marcellus.

Marcus shook his head vehemently, “I would as soon want a Briton to be my other half, as I would a German, or an Egyptian.”

“Besides, Caius…” Lucius interrupted. “… you seem to forget women of fair hair and pale skin are also to be found in Rome; descendants of the Gauls of course, but still, Romans now.”

Caius Marcellus Otho thanked the old woman and placed a few coins in her hand.

The woman turned to leave, but stopped suddenly and turned back to Marcus. “You and I will see each other again one day, after these things have come to pass, and you will remember this night and you will tell me my words were prophetic… until then, sir, may your gods protect you.” And off she went into the night.

Marcus replayed the old woman’s words over and over again in his mind that night. Inwardly he hoped the old woman was right; that all the honor and glory she’d spoken of, would someday be his.

And… yes… that that great love she’d promised would be his, _would _ be his.

But… despite knowing what to look for, if the old woman’s words were indeed prophetic, where would he find that other half his soul longed so desperately for? Perhaps he was only meant to know it was on its way, not where it would happen, or how.

A little more than one year later, lying on his bed, while convalescing at his uncle’s villa in Calleva, after having suffered the injury that put an end to his military career, Marcus remembered the old woman’s words and began to laugh; bitterly with unrestrained anger.

“A great triumph! Honor and glory… my ass! I should have listened to Lucius!” Marcus was surprised neither his uncle, nor Stephanos, had already come to the room to inquire about the yelling Marcus was doing. “Why would the gods grant me honor and glory? The son of a coward! Mithras permit I _do_ see you again, you evil old thief, so that I may spit in your face!”

Now, it wasn’t that Uncle Aquila or Stephanos hadn’t heard the anger spewing from Marcus’ room; both were certain even the stable boys outside the house had heard, but neither thought it their business to interfere with Marcus’ outburst.

“Let him be, Stephanos.” Uncle Aquila had ordered his old body slave when the Greek had made a move toward Marcus’ room. “Let him unburden his grief. It will be better that he does rather than keeping it to himself.”

A few evenings later, as Marcus and Uncle Aquila sat in the veranda, playing a game of latrunculi, Marcus finally shared the old woman’s predictions with the older man.

“My boy,” Uncle Aquila chuckled, “if I had a sesterce for every soothsayer who has tried to pull the wool over my eyes while at a tavern, I would be a very wealthy man indeed.”

Marcus gave his uncle a side smile in return, “I suppose I was influenced by the Tribunus laticlavius’ words that the old woman had predicted a son for his daughter followed by the death of her next child.”

Old Aquila nodded. “I understand that, my boy, but it may have been just a very fortunate guess on the part of the old woman … I doubt her prediction would have been so precise a third time around, as was proven in your case. Either way, I would not pay it too much mind. Every one of us wants to believe the words of seers and soothsayers, Marcus, and we forget they are mortals, no different than you and me, not gods. Only the gods can know for certain what the Fates hold in store for us, my boy.”

Later that same evening, the former magistrate invited his nephew to the Saturnalia games that were to be held the following morning at the arena in Calleva.

“We will have to leave shortly after sunrise, my boy. It is a long way to town from here and if we wish to assure ourselves excellent seats, the earlier we get there, the better.”

A melancholy Marcus nodded and made his way to his bed chamber.

The former centurion spent the night having feverish dreams about his father and the lost eagle, until shortly before sunrise when another dream took a different turn; a dream like no dream Marcus had ever dreamed before.

Marcus was hidden from sight of the warriors chasing his fleeing father further into the woods, and he was about to run behind them, when one of the warriors, a small lithe figure, stopped and turned to face Marcus. Marcus couldn’t see the face for the figure was back-lit causing a shadow to hide the features. Marcus could see the fairness of the hair, made more golden by the light of the sun, but that was all; everything else was in shadow, but there was something about the figure that made Marcus’ heart skip a beat.

Marcus awakened and found himself trying to force himself back to sleep if only to see the figure once more, but the sleep he so desperately wished for eluded him, and soon Uncle Aquila was at his door.

“Marcus! Marcus, my boy... we will be leaving soon.”


	2. The Promise

The evening of the Saturnalia found Marcus and Uncle Aquila invited to a small banquet at the home of the Legate Claudius Marcellus, in Calleva, even though both men would’ve much preferred a quiet dinner at home.

It isn’t quite true to say Marcus and Uncle Aquila were at the banquet, for although Marcus _was_ there in body, his mind _was_ still at the arena; lingering over the events of that morning.

The handsome Roman had been unable to detach his thoughts from the memory of the small Briton more willing to face his own death, then serve as entertainment to the hundreds of bloodthirsty spectators watching him.

The boy, for he couldn’t have been much more than that, had captured Marcus’ attention from the very moment he’d stepped out onto the sands of the arena: handsome and unafraid.

Uncle Aquila had leaned over and said something about the boy, but Marcus hadn’t heard more than a couple of words the old magistrate had muttered.

Marcus' world had suddenly stopped.

He couldn’t draw his eyes away from the lonely figure standing his ground on the sands with no one to cheer for him, or mourn his passing when the gladiator ended his life.

When the moment came, Marcus felt as though his heart could no longer contain itself within its cavity. It was as though he were the one lying helpless upon the sands; hoping for mercy, but not willing to beg for it.

Marcus looked around at the multitude of blood hungry faces, cheering the gladiator on, giving him the sign of their pleasure: thumbs down.

Then and there he decided to stand and beg for the boy’s life, if need be; especially since the boy wasn’t willing to beg for his own life.

But Marcus couldn’t let him die.

Not that he knew, or understood, why. Later, at the banquet, the Legate would join his voice to that of Uncle Aquila’s in question as to the reason why Marcus had felt compelled to spare the Briton’s life.

Marcus wouldn’t have an answer for the Legate as he hadn’t had an answer for his uncle.

Whatever the reason Marcus had allowed himself to beg for the boy’s life, and a Briton at that, wasn’t something he was willing to think about or analyze any further. He had done it... and that was all there was to it.

Marcus tried to focus his attention on his host, his uncle, as well as the other guests, as best he could.

Looking around the room, from where he sat, Marcus’ eyes studied the faces of the Roman nobles, when he suddenly found himself locking eyes with a beautiful young woman seated beside her mother. The young woman was breathtakingly beautiful; her hair fair in color, her skin ivory, her mouth red like a pomegranate, and her eyes the color of rain.

Having caught himself staring at the girl, Marcus but swiftly looked away.

Marcus didn’t see the blushing girl smile and lower her eyes shyly.

@@@@@

A couple of hours later, as they made their way back to the villa on the outskirts of town, Marcus asked Uncle Aquila who the girl was.

“That is the daughter of Senator Marcus Claudius Glaber. Since her mother died, she’s been a ward of the governor and his wife.”

“The governor?” Marcus echoed impressed.

“Yes, the governor, my boy. I believe Claudius said her mother and Urbicus’ wife were cousins.” Uncle Aquila looked over at Marcus and chuckled, “Are you interested in her, Marcus?”

A flushed Marcus shook his head and looked out at the passing scenery as their litter made its way through town and out the South gate. “That’s a shame… I noticed a few stolen stares from her in your direction, my boy.” Uncle Aquila poked Marcus with his elbow. “She also fits the description of the girl the old woman predicted you are fated to meet, does she not?” There was sarcasm in old Aquila’s words, but Marcus was not bothered by it.

It didn’t matter in the least. Were Marcus interested in the girl, or the girl interested in Marcus, no senator, especially one with the illustrious lineage of Marcus Claudius Glaber, would ever agree to marry his daughter to the son of the man who lost, not only the eagle of the Ninth, but the legion itself.

Marcus was no fool.

He knew he was fated to either live out his years as a bachelor, as his uncle had, marry some girl from some inconsequential family, or a Briton; and with the last being the most probable choice, living in Britannia as he did, he’d rather choose to follow in his uncle’s path.

Thankfully he hadn’t felt anything of what the old woman had predicted would happen when he met his “other half,” whilst looking at the girl, for that would've been tragic indeed. _Not_ that he was believing anything of what the old woman had said, he kept reassuring himself.

However, his reaction at the sight of the lithe Briton boy that morning, had left Marcus confused.

According to Aristophanes, there was no reason for the boy _not_ to be Marcus’ other half, but as a Roman Marcus couldn’t accept that possibility; there was also the fact the Briton was a boy and Marcus had _never_ had an inclination toward male lovers. And if his "other half" was supposed to be the "great love" of his life, that fact would've created a problem.

In any case, there was no reason thinking about the old woman and her predictions; it had all been a malicious lie spun for the benefit of a few sesterces.

He needed to remember _that_ whenever the old woman’s words crept into his subconscious.

Marcus and old Aquila couldn’t have been happier when the litter came to a stop at the front of the villa.

“It has been a long day, my boy, and I am tired.” Uncle Aquila exclaimed as he stepped out from the litter. “I think I am going to indulge in a cup of sweet wine and go to bed.”

Marcus offered his uncle an affectionate smile. He truly cared for his only relative; better said, the only living relative who acknowledged and cared for him. “I am going to do the same Uncle.”

Old Aquila signaled for two of the litter bearers to help Marcus up the steps and into the villa.

Aquila entered the villa behind his nephew and went to stand by the impluvium watching closely as the two slaves and Marcus disappeared down the long hall that led to Marcus’ bed chamber.

Stephanos, who always seemed to know what his master craved, or needed, before Aquila ever had the opportunity to ask, lifted the small silver tray with the cup of cool sweet wine set atop it, to his master who took it with a grateful nod.

“I think I am going to buy Marcus a body slave of his own, Stephanos. He needs someone completely devoted to his care.”

“I agree Dominus.” Having gulped down the sweet wine, Aquila turned to his own body slave.

“Early tomorrow morning, I want you to visit the arena and tell Beppo I wish to buy the boy Marcus saved at the Saturnalia games this morning; the Briton who lost to the gladiator in the Janus mask. I will leave a purse with 2000 sesterces on my writing table, in case I am still asleep when you leave, for I doubt I will be rising with the sun as usual.”

“Yes, Dominus, but… if I may ask… why the arena? Would not from the slave auction be a better choice, Dominus?”

“I am certain it would be a far better choice, Stephanos, but… Marcus took to this one boy who fought in this morning’s games. He even went as far as to save his life.”

Stephanos’ eyes widened. “Why did he do that, Dominus”

Aquila shook his head before answering the old Greek slave. “I do not know, Stephanos. I asked Marcus that same question, but he did not answer. Perhaps he himself does not know why. Whatever the reason, go to Beppo and do as I said. I want the boy to be here when Marcus arises.”

Aquila turned in the direction of his room and then stopped. “And Stephanos, do not let old Beppo swindle you out of that purse. That Briton is not worth more than 1500 sesterces, if that much.”

Stephanos nodded. “Yes, Dominus. Do not worry. Beppo knows his tricks do not work on me.”

Aquila laughed, drew close and patted his body slave on the back. “Good night, Stephanos.”

@@@@@

Marcus sat at the edge of his narrow bed going over the day’s events.

He found himself wondering if the boy from the arena was happy to be alive?

Was he grateful Marcus had saved his life?

Was he… was he wondering who that Roman, standing on his behalf, vehemently trying to persuade the crowd to turn their thumbs up, was?

Did it matter?

Marcus shook his head, grabbed his walking stick with one hand, and the side of his chair with the other, and stood.

What was it about that boy that didn’t permit Marcus to forget him?

It must be he felt empathy for the boy’s situation; standing alone, bravely alone, prideful, unhumbled, unbroken, between a sea of enemies calling for his death.

He had felt that way, Marcus had.

Many times.

Alone.

Bravely alone.

Struggling to keep his pride.

To remain unbroken and upright among those who mocked and ridiculed him for what his father had done.

It had never been a simple thing, but that boy had made it seem so very simple.

Marcus suddenly realized the begrudging admiration he’d developed for the boy, had begun the moment the circus master pushed him out onto the sands; a small unimportant figure holding a short sword and a small round shield, standing before a giant of a man.

The analogy not lost on Marcus: a Briton was no match for the power of Rome.

Marcus walked over to the doors that opened to a lake view and stood looking out into the darkness of the night.

An owl hooted, crickets chirped; the sounds of the night surrounded him.

Those sounds lulled him to sleep every night.

Marcus slowly made his way back to his bed and laid down after struggling.

Oh, how he wished he had someone to help him get in and out of bed.

Someone to keep him company.

Someone to talk with him about… whatever came to mind.

He was lonely.

Then… he remembered the girl.

And then… he remembered... the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for taking the time to read this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it.


	3. The Meeting

The following morning Marcus awoke feeling little different than he had when he finally closed his eyes a few hours earlier.

His injured leg felt stiff and painful, even more so then when he’d gone to bed.

Marcus cursed himself, for having agreed to accompany his uncle to the Saturnalia games, as well as his uncle for having invited him in the first place.

Marcus reached for his walking stick and struggled out of bed. He grabbed the clean tunic that -no doubt- Stephanos had laid out for him- balanced himself against the narrow bed, with his uninjured knee, and slipped the soft white tunic over his head.

Afterward Marcus limped over to the chair at the edge of his bed and began putting his sandals on; he had no trouble with the right one, but when it came to the left sandal, he found he couldn’t.

Marcus sighed in deep disappointment. He’d wanted to show his uncle he didn't need a body slave, because he really didn’t want one; not that he wasn’t lonely, for he was, but the ever-present presence of a body slave wasn’t what he was looking for either.

Marcus would much rather remain alone; besides, Stephanos was there if he needed him.

“Stephanos.” Marcus called out as he tried one last time to lace the leather straps around his left ankle. “Stephanos!”

But when the door to his bedchamber opened Marcus was more than a little disappointed to note that who’d heeded his call wasn’t Stephanos, but his uncle.

“Stephanos will no longer be looking after you, my boy.” Old Aquila stood inside directly in front of the door, arms at his side, hands at his waist, and looking taller than Marcus remembered.

“Why not?” Marcus inquired sheepishly for his gut already knew the answer.

“I bought you your own body slave.” Uncle Aquila announced smugly as if to emphasis the point that his word is law; if only in their small villa outside Calleva.

“Uncle, did I not say I do not need my own body slave?” Marcus snapped sitting straighter than he had been when his uncle entered the room, staring the older man down as he spoke.

“Yes, Marcus, you did say that, but you do need a body slave. Stephanos is not a young man, and although you are no great burden to him, I do not wish to overtax the man; especially when there is no need to do so. I can well afford to buy you your own body slave.”

“I _should_ have been consulted,” was all Marcus could think to reply, noting his uncle didn't care what his nephew thought.

“Well, you were not.” Aquila dismissed Marcus’ reprimand and called out for the slave to approach.

Marcus’ eyes widened when the slave entered the room and his uncle pushed him forward.

Aquila smiled slyly as he introduced the slave, “His name is Esca.” Then he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Marcus alone with his new body slave.

Marcus’ face burned as his thoughts immediately went to _why_ his uncle would think of purchasing this _particular_ slave.

His uncle must’ve thought Marcus was lusting for the tribesman and that was the reason he’d saved him.

Marcus felt humiliated and angry that his uncle would think so little of his morals.

The Roman looked over at the tribesman, at his lowered gaze, his stance, how beautiful he was, but still… “I do not need a body slave,” Marcus finally spit out.

“I did not ask to be bought.” And there it was.

The sound of his voice: low and rough in tone, lyrical, accented.

“Then you should have run.” Marcus answered, struggling to stand and walk over to the open double doors that looked out at the villa’s private lake. “My uncle would not have stopped you.”

“You saved my life. I owe a debt of honor to you now.” Again… that voice.

Why could Marcus _almost_ swear he’d heard it in a dream?

Marcus had heard many voices, from many men, especially after a ten-year tenure with the Eagles, but… this voice… this man's voice was different.

Marcus nearly stumbled as his heart pounded a couple of times and suddenly felt too large for his chest. Esca made a move toward him, but a fierce look from Marcus kept him where he stood.

“I did not do anything I would not have done for anyone else.”

“No one should have to beg for his life.”

“You did not beg for your life, I did,” Marcus answered as smugly as he possible could. He didn’t want the tribesman to get the same impression his uncle had obviously gotten; and if by some chance Esca had gotten the same impression, Marcus wanted to dispel it from his mind as quickly as possible, “… and I meant nothing by it.”

Marcus looked over at the tribesman, and then quickly turned away not wanting the slave to read the impression he’d made on his new master, before even setting foot in the room.

Marcus’ heart hadn’t beat in rhythm for more than a few minutes and Marcus was beginning to worry, when suddenly the old woman’s words came to the forefront of his mind: _…when your heart begins to lose its timely rhythm, you will know you are in the presence of your other half._

 _No! The old woman was wrong?_ Marcus thought to himself.

In the meantime, as the Roman struggled with his own thoughts, Esca lifted his eyes quickly to examine his new master's countenance.

The young tribesman hadn’t realized how tall the Roman was until now. His face chiseled, his skin bronze gold, his hair the color of mahogany, and his eyes emerald green. The Roman was handsome… not that it mattered to Esca.

As Esca studied his master, Marcus had been forcing himself to remember the reaction he’d had the previous evening when his eyes had locked on those of the senator’s daughter: nothing.

He’d experienced nothing; nothing like what he’d experienced when the young tribesman walked onto the sands, or when their eyes met while the tribesman lay on his back awaiting the crowd’s pleasure, or even now… now when he’d entered Marcus’ room obeying Uncle Aquila's call.

Everything the old woman had predicted would happen, _had_ happened.

But how?

How could she have been wrong about the _glory and honor_ that was supposed to have been Marcus’, but right about something as insignificant as love?

It made no sense to Marcus and he wasn’t going to allow himself another moment of thought on the matter.

Besides… even if this was _all_ the old woman would be proven right about, the she had spoken of Marcus’ other half being a pale skinned, golden haired woman, with eyes the color of water.

And although, the tribesman fit the description to the teeth, he _was_ a man!

Marcus had _never_ favored, nor bedded, men. Marcus’ sensual pleasures had only ever been sated by women: noble or camp follower, but women, nonetheless.

Perhaps Marcus’ reaction to the tribesman was unadulterated empathy: pure and simple.

Yes! That’s exactly what it was.

Suddenly, as Marcus snapped out of his daze, he noticed the tribesman drawing close to him, eye’s fiery, a dagger in hand; Marcus prepared himself the best he could for the tribesman’s attack.

He could see the intent in the man's eyes. “I am a son of the Brigantes, who never broke his word. My father’s dagger is my bond.” And…then he stopped and threw the dagger at Marcus’ feet. “I hate everything you stand for, everything you are, but you saved me and for that I must serve you.” Then he lowered his eyes and again bowed his head in subservience.

How beautiful he looked.

How Marcus’ heart raced and pounded.

The Roman couldn’t look away no matter how hard he tried. The tribesman, Esca, was captivating.

Marcus stood still staring at his slave realizing there was no further arguments to be had; he understood what drove the tribesm…Esca... he was honor bound, and Marcus respected _that_ above all things.

Marcus ordered Esca to hand him the dagger. Marcus studied the intricately decorated ivory handle as he limped over to his bed, and placed the dagger under his pillow.

The rest of the day Esca followed Marcus everywhere, trying his best to do for his master what was obviously difficult for the Roman to do on his own, but every time, Marcus would wave him away.

There was a moment when Marcus, needing help rising from his seat, shooed Esca away as he hurried over to help him, and turned to Stephanos instead.

It was obvious Marcus wanted nothing from Esca and Uncle Aquila shook his head at his nephew’s stubbornness. It was then the former magistrate decided to settle the matter before things went any further.

“Marcus… I bought you that slave for him to help care for you, and to be there when you need him, NOT for you to keep relying on Stephanos.”

Marcus tried a few arguments, but none stood a chance as far as his uncle was concerned.

“Marcus… the matter is settled. Esca is who you will call when you need assistance; as far as Stephanos is concerned, I have ordered him not to obey any of your requests, should you forget what we have discussed here. Good night, my boy.”

Marcus pouted his disappointment and nodded. “Good night, sir.”

“Help me to my room.” Marcus barked over his shoulder knowing Esca would be standing directly behind him.

The lithe tribesman hurried over to his master’s side, and positioned himself so that the Roman could find balance and support leaning against him.

A pallet had been placed -exactly where Marcus had asked Marcipor to place it- outside Marcus’ bed chamber for Esca to sleep on.

As they neared the bedchamber, Marcus noted how chilly the evening had become, and his heart tugged realizing Esca would be cold in the hallway, without the advantage of a brazier as was to be found in his own room.

Marcus shrugged. He didn’t want to show any favoritism that might validate the reason his uncle had even considered the failed gladiator for Marcus’ body slave.

The look in his uncle’s eyes had told Marcus everything.

It wasn’t that a man taking pleasure from his slave was frowned upon, it was the way of things, as long as it wasn’t the other way around.

But Marcus had had enough of people thinking for him, assuming they knew his mind, thinking they could read his thoughts. “Get yourself another fur. Ask Stephanos, or Sasstica, where they are.”

There.

That was good enough.

At least he wouldn’t feel guilty knowing his slave was freezing outside his door.

Marcus would discredit his uncle’s ill-conceived perception of him no matter what; that would teach his uncle not to think he knew his nephew as well as he thought he did.

And if Esca had to suffer because of it, it was regretful, but keeping his honor meant far more to Marcus than the comfort of a slave.

Especially when his honor was all Marcus had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. It really means a lot to me and I'm grateful. Please feel free to leave any feedback. It's a great gift and one that is greatly appreciated. Happy and Safe Holidays to ALL!


	4. The Awakening

"Marcus, my boy… _why_ must you be so stubborn?” Uncle Aquila snarled.

“Uncle, the fort Medicus knew what he was doing!”

“Indeed, that is why he had you transported over 200 leagues in a mule cart.”

Marcus shook his head exasperated. “I do not need a second opinion, uncle. That is a wasteful use of coin!”

“ _My_ coin! Therefore, I suggest you prepare yourself for the arrival of Rufus Galarius, an old friend, and Medicus, presently a guest of the Legate, and on his way here even as we speak.”

Marcus motioned for Esca to help him stand.

The Roman had learned, begrudgingly so, to rely on his body slave. It had been easier than Marcus had imagined, especially since he was forced to rely on the quiet Celt, like it or not.

Uncle Aquila had made it clear that either Marcus turn to his body slave, or he’d be forced to fend for himself. There was no more turning to Stephanos, even though Marcus would’ve much preferred the old Greek slave to the young handsome tribesman.

“Help me to my bed.”

“Yes, Dominus.”

Marcus sat on his bed and let Esca lift his left leg onto the feather mattress so that he could lie down. The slave waited to see if his master needed anything else, but Marcus folded his arms over his chest and looked up at the coffered wood beam ceiling, ignoring Esca’s presence, altogether.

Marcus didn’t say more than the few words necessary to make his wants known to the Brigantes slave.

This was not going to become the friendship that existed between his uncle and Stephanos, no matter how distant.

Soon, Uncle Aquila entered the room followed by Rufus Galarius, who carried a large leather pouch flung over his shoulder, no doubt filled with his tools.

Rufus Galarius examined Marcus’ leg as a disinterested Marcus continued looking up.

“ _Who_ searched this wound?”

“The surgeon at the fort,” Marcus answered shifting his eyes quickly from the ceiling to the Medicus and then back to the ceiling.

“They sent him 200 leagues in a mule cart.” A frustrated Uncle Aquila added.

It was obvious to anyone, even to a stubborn Marcus, that his uncle cared deeply about his health and well being.

“This wound must be reopened.”

“Well, if it must be done, it must be done.” Uncle Aquila said as he stood to his full height.

Rufus Galarius nodded and patted Marcus’ good leg, “Do not worry, Centurion… it will be over before you know it. I have the best knives in the business.”

The man was full of pride when it came to his work, and for good reason. When in Rome, the emperor himself would call no other than Rufus Galarius when ailment plagued any in his household.

Uncle Aquila then escorted Rufus Galarius out of the room, so that he could begin preparing for the surgery.

Esca had stood by the open double doors taking in everything said and done.

The Celt hadn’t been surprised, for he had already asked Sasstica about what had injured his master, and she had told him of Marcus' valiant stance against a charging chariot, to save his men from certain death.

Sasstica hadn’t appreciated Esca’s silence, expecting more of the reaction she had had: shocked disbelief and admiration.

But Esca didn’t care.

Esca hadn’t lied when he’d told Marcus he hated everything he stood for, and everything he is; but, he couldn’t lie to himself, either.

Had Marcus welcomed him the way Esca had envisioned he would -as the Celt sat next to Stephanos, on the horse-drawn cart, daydreaming about the Roman who’d saved his life the previous morning- Esca might not have said what he said.

But Marcus had been flippant about his saving Esca’s life as though the gesture, and the moment, held no importance; why should it, though.

It wasn’t a Roman’s life. It was a Briton’s life. Worth absolutely nothing to a Roman.

Marcus, no doubt, had saved Esca from death to feed his own ego, prove his mercifulness to the crowd, or to win the heart of the girl he’d heard the older Aquila talking to Marcus so much about.

Whatever the reason, it hadn’t been because he cared, or saw the value and humanity in the man lying on the sands, waiting for the gladiator to drive his sword home, and end his miserable life.

“Bring me some wine.” His master demanded.

Esca nodded once, turned on his heel, and left the room.

Marcus finally lowered his gaze from the wood beam ceiling and looked after his body slave’s retreating form.

His heart continued its steady beat and Marcus was glad.

@@@@@@@@@@

The surgery would be performed in the villa’s dining room because of the rectangular wood table.

Uncle Aquila entered the room with an armful of folded sheets, Rufus Galarius was securing the belts, and readying his knives, as Esca brought a pot of hot water and placed it on the stand nearest the Medicus.

Esca went to stand near Marcus, and for making the mistake of locking eyes with his master, the Celt was dismissed.

“You can go!” Marcus ordered.

“ _No!_ ” Rufus Galarius countered. “I need him to hold you down.”

“Cannot my uncle do it?”

Uncle Aquila shook his head and offered an excuse as to why he couldn’t assist in holding his nephew down as Rufus Galarius reopened Marcus’ wound.

“You know me, Rufus… I cannot stand the sight of blood… especially when that blood belongs to someone I care about.”

Uncle Aquila then told Marcus to be strong and walked out onto the veranda. Rufus Galarius turned to Esca and ordered him to lean over Marcus and put his weight on him.

Marcus tried focusing on anything in the room that wasn’t his body slave.

“When I say _now_ , hold him down,” Rufus demanded of Esca.

“NOW!”

Marcus clenched his teeth to the point of breaking, and in his desperation, he looked up and into Esca’s eyes.

His heart reacted: racing, stopping, beating forcefully against his chest.

Those eyes.

“Eyes the color of water,” the old woman had said.

Esca, too, was not unaffected by the nearness of Marcus.

The Celt lost himself in the Roman’s emerald green eyes.

The pain in them. The hurt. The sadness.

There was vulnerability there. Kindness.

As Marcus began losing consciousness, he again looked deep into his slave’s eyes, and he was suddenly keenly aware of the effect the tribesman had on him.

And then… he fell into an unconscious state, where the same nightmare followed: his father’s cowardice, his father’s shame… and then… he awakened.

Esca came to Marcus’ side the moment the Roman stirred, holding a small cup.

The Celt placed one hand under his master’s head and lifted it as gently as one would a child’s, and brought the cup to Marcus’ lips; it was wine mixed with something that would help ease Marcus’ pain.

This time Marcus didn’t stop himself from meeting Esca’s eyes.

“Did I shame myself?”

The Roman asked after taking a long sip of the liquid.

Esca didn’t answer.

He thought.

A question of honor was not so easily asked of a slave by his master.

That was too vulnerable a question to be asked of one you knew hated what you are and what you stand for.

And yet… his master had asked him.

That’s how highly his master thought of him. How highly his master must regard his word.

Esca shook his head, preferring that to answering since he wasn’t exactly sure how or what to say.

“Thank you.”

Esca turned to leave, but as he neared the door, Marcus called out to him.

“Sleep here tonight… in case I need you.”

“Yes, Dominus.”

And out he went to inform Uncle Aquila and Rufus Galarius that Marcus had awakened.

Uncle Aquila and Rufus Galarius did not thank Esca.

No one ever had.

Well, no Roman had ever thanked him, nor anyone after his having been made a slave.

Back home he’d been thanked; but then again, back home he was a Prince.

There was no reason to thank Esca the slave and yet… his master had thanked him.

That night, as Esca lay on his pallet, inches away from Marcus, he closed his eyes and remembered that morning: the nearness of Marcus, his eyes, his mouth, his scent.

Esca had always preferred men to women, and he’d had his share of lovers, but they’d all been his own kind: Brigantes, Carvetii, and one Setantii, but he never thought he would be attracted to a Roman.

But… he was.

He had been since that fateful morning he lay on the sands.

Suddenly he felt his cock stir and he wanted… oh. he wanted.

He needed to touch himself and the soft moans an unconscious Marcus was making, weren’t helping matters, but they were moans of pain, not pleasure.

Esca could never take pleasure from pain, or could he?

The one in pain was a Roman after all and Esca didn’t give a damn about Roman pain… but… Marcus was different.

Marcus had asked him if he’d shamed himself, and no Roman would ever ask that of any slave unless that slave was dear to them.

Marcus had not shamed himself and Esca wouldn’t shame him, either.

For now, Esca forced all thoughts of Marcus out of his mind, closed his eyes, and let Marcus’ now steady breathing lull him to sleep.

He would know what his master thought of him in the morning… when he awoke.

He could wait until then.

There was _always_ tomorrow night, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. Your time is a gift and its a gift very much appreciated by me. Please feel free to leave feedback. And again... thank you.


	5. The Spark

The following morning hadn’t gone as Esca had hoped it would: his waking to Marcus looking down at him, smiling widely, grateful for Esca’s presence; nor had the following three days.

A feverish and heavily medicated Marcus had tossed and turned, moaned and groaned, and rarely awakened for more than a few minutes at a time.

And when he was awake, his mood was so foul, Esca only wished for him to drift back into unconsciousness as quickly as possible.

By the second night, Esca had decided, that if this stage prolonged itself any further, he would take Marcus up on his initial suggestion, and run away.

But… just as quickly as the thought came into his mind, it dissipated.

How could he run away when he had sworn an oath of honor to his master?

He could not… but… then again…would his gods or his ancestors care if he, a Brigantes, broke his word to a Roman?

Esca was not sure of the answer, or he was when it came to his ancestors, but not when it came to his gods. And it was that uncertainty that kept him a prisoner to his oath.

But then… on the third night… Marcus was between dreams, a delirium when he awakened yelling out, “Life! Life!”

A startled Esca’s eyes flew open. Had it all been a dream? Was he still on the sands awaiting the crowds decision, gladiator poised and ready to strike? Esca sprang up from his pallet and noted he was exactly where he thought he’d been: serving as a body slave to an arrogant and irritating Roman. At that moment he wasn’t sure which of the two fates he preferred. Esca went to stand by his master’s side.

“Dominus? Dominus.”

Marcus stirred, trying to open his eyes, but they would flutter and close just as quickly.

Esca touched his master’s forehead and found it burning with fever.

Rufus Galarius had said the fever was normal; something about the body healing itself, although no Brigantes would have taken a fever as such a positive sign.

Suddenly, Esca looked down to see his master’s emerald green eyes staring up at him.

“Is it you?” Marcus whispered grabbing hold of the Celt’s wrist.

“Dominus?” Esca replied not knowing who Marcus was thinking he was as he tried to free his wrist from his master’s grip.

“Are you the one? My other half.”

“I am Esca, your slave, Dominus.”

“Esca?” Marcus echoed as his eyes searched Esca’s, and then Marcus’ eyes closed, he released Esca’s wrist, and off to sleep he fell once again.

Esca stood vigil until he was sure his master would not reawaken, and as he stood, he wondered: _Who was his master thinking of?A lover no doubt. Yes, of course, a lover. He had referred to his other half._

When it seemed certain Marcus would not be awakening any time soon, Esca returned to his pallet and thought.

The feel of his master’s strong hand holding his in place.

The way Marcus had looked at him; his eyes soft and gentle.

Fortunate the woman who owned that gaze.

Would that someone had looked at him that way, but no one ever had, and no one ever would.

Who would _ever_ look at a slave with such love?

Esca strained to listen to Marcus steady breathing, and as soon as he was sure Marcus was lost in his unconscious sleep once again, he allowed himself the pleasure he had denied himself a couple of nights before.

He took himself in hand.

Esca had kept a small vial of oil under his master’s bed, hidden behind the wooden leg post nearest his reach.

Esca lowered his bracae below his hips, took the small vial, then spilled a generous amount onto his right hand and closed the hand around his member.

The fault was that of his master’s gaze.

Esca pulled, and tugged, and twisted his cock, fingering the slit, and abusing its length with rough, long strokes.

It had been longer than Esca could remember, the last time he’d had the opportunity to pleasure himself whilst lying down, in near privacy.

He wanted to savor it and make it last as long as he could; Marcus’ sleep permitting, of course.

Soon Esca’s back was arching off his pallet, and his eyes rolling back with the ecstasy of his release.

Thankfully, the Celt had thought to stuff a small rag in his mouth to keep himself from yelling his satisfaction when he finally came.

His dominus had that leisure, as did his uncle, but slaves weren’t afforded that privilege, even in their own quarters as had been the case in the second home Esca had served in.

The slave quarters had been under the villa; a narrow corridor, small cubicles with a pallet on the floor, no windows, no lamps, only darkness, and cold.

And although there must have been slaves who sought pleasure with each other, Esca never heard a sound.

Things like that were kept silent, so as to keep tattle-tale slaves from engratiating themselves with the domina, or dominus, off another slave’s back.

That night, Esca slept more satisfied than he had in a very long time…and then… he awakened to this…

“Esca? Esca?” A gentle whisper floated down from above him.

“What day is it? How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days, Dominus.” Esca answered as he raised himself off his pallet and went to stand at the foot of his master's bed.

 _“Three days!”_ Marcus made an attempt to sit up but felt his head spin and lay back down, covering his eyes.

Esca stood at the foot of the bed waiting for his master to speak, or send him away; neither happened, so he decided to breach the silence.

“The Medicus says the wound is healing, Dominus.”

As if hit by something, Marcus lowered his hand from his eyes and stared at his leg. “The pain… it is not the same.”

And without wanting, or meaning to, Marcus smiled and then looked up at Esca. “Mithras be thanked. Is Rufus Galarius still in the villa?”

“Yes, Dominus.”

"Go fetch him… and my uncle, too.”

“Yes, Dominus.” Rufus Galarius was very pleased with himself, and Uncle Aquila was overjoyed.

“Rufus, my friend, your services are worth every sesterce paid you. I cannot thank you enough.” Uncle Aquila did not mind his nephew’s company in the least if anything he welcomed it.

But he wasn’t selfish and he knew Marcus deserved a better fate than the one he’d had had if Rufus Galarius wouldn’t have performed his magic.

At least now, even if Marcus could never again march with the Eagles, he had a chance to begin his life in a more independent way.

“Marcus, if I were you I would have your slave give you a good shave, or in a few days your beard will rival that of your uncle’s.” Rufus Galarius joked.

Marcus smiled tightly as he passed his right hand over the stubble growing on his cheeks, mustache, and chin.

The moment the Medicus and Uncle Aquila left his bedchamber, Marcus turned to Esca.

“How good are you at giving a shave?”

“I was taught while in service to my first dominus.”

“Go tell Stephanos to give you what you need.”

Esca turned to leave.

“Wait!” Marcus called out. “Tell him to have Marcipor bring some hot water so that you can help me wash up. I smell foul!”

“Yes, Dominus.” The Celt bowed his head slightly.

Marcus watched Esca close the door behind him, and then his eyes fell on the slave’s pallet on the floor beside his bed.

He didn’t remember giving Esca permission to sleep in the room, never mind beside his bed, but… he was grateful to whover had. 

 

@@@@@@@@@@

 

Two weeks later, Marcus sat on a rock watching Esca fish, not with a net, but while standing in the water with his hands submerged waiting for the fish to swim into his grip.

“How do they not swim away from you?” Marcus called out to his slave.

“You must stand very still, Dominus.”

Marcus looked to the side at the fish Esca had already caught lying near the basket he’d been meaning to toss them into.

He then looked back at the young man.

The Celt was small, the top of his head came up to Marcus’ shoulder, and his body was well formed.

Marcus was no fool, he’d seen warriors before, he’d fought them; the man standing knee deep in the water had the look of a warrior.

Esca was handsome, painfully so, with that pale skin that drove most Roman men wild with lust, and their women mad with envy.

Suddenly Marcus noticed Esca walking out of the lake and toward shore, holding a fish with one hand, and touching it’s belly with the other.

“They tickle.” The Celt said as he chuckled.

Marcus smiled.

Esca began cleaning the fish and washing them in the lake water before putting them in the basket for Sasstica.

Looking at Esca work, and the surroundings around them, brought something to Marcus’ mind: the reason he’d asked to be sent to Britannia.

“Esca,” Marcus tried to sound nonchalant. “did you ever hear about about a legion that marched into Caledonia and was never heard from again?” The Roman paid particular attention to his slave’s reaction.

“The Ninth?” Esca replied calmly as he put the last fish in the basket.

Marcus nodded.

“They say the men liked the weather so much, they decided to stay and marry the women.” Esca joked, but Marcus could sense the sarcasm swimming beneath the spoken words.

Marcus shook his head, not indulging his slave’s joke, but pursuing the line of questioning. “What does your tribe say?”

Esca suddenly became somber and Marcus could tell he’d struck a nerve.

“My tribe is gone.”

An answer Marcus had not anticipated and one he would rather not have heard.

Suddenly he found himself remembering Cradoc, his friend.

The Dumnonii that had hunted with him, raced chariots with him and taken bread with him.

Cradoc was also the man Marcus had had to kill in order to save the lives of his men.

“My father was Cunoval, Lord of 500 Spears. Seven years ago we rose up against you. My father and brothers died… my mother, also. My father killed her before the Centurions came. She knelt in front of him and he slit her throat. He knew what they would do to her.”

Marcus felt awkward not knowing what exactly to say.

It was an unfortunate tragedy for sure, but it wasn’t as though Esca’s tribe had been attacked for no reason and out of nowhere.

He said there’d been an uprising.

Marcus would never understand why people refused to look at all the good Rome brought to their lands: the roads, the laws, civilization.

Why would they want to continue fighting progress?What value was there in barbarity? Why weren't they ALL just grateful to have been taken out of the darkness and brought into the light?

The human side of Marcus felt for the tribesman’s loss and he offered Esca his sympathies: “I am sorry.”

Esca, who had been looking down at his hands, looked up at his master, wide eyed and perplexed.

Not only had Marcus trusted Esca’s word the night of the surgery, but now he’d offered his apologies for the loss of Esca’s family.

No one had apologized to Esca in all of that time, for anything; especially not for that.

What did the loss of a thousand barbarians, or so, matter?

Their eyes lingered. Locked. Searching.

Marcus could feel his heart skipping its beats and Esca’s rapid breathing betrayed his own reaction to his master’s gaze.

The Celt pulled himself together, stood up quickly, yanked his knife out of the wood stump he’d stuck it into, and without looking back at Marcus said, “We should get these back to Sasstica if she is to cook them for this evening’s meal, Dominus.”

“Yes. Yes, we should.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish to thank every one of you who has taken the time to read this story. I do not tire from saying that your time, is a gift, and a gift I treasure and appreciate more than words can say. Again, please feel free to leave any feedback you wish to share with me. I would be most grateful. And thank you again.


	6. Twist of Fate

Marcus had regained his strength, as well as the full use of his left leg.

Not that it would ever again be good enough to march with the Eagles, but it was good enough to give him the independence Uncle Aquila wished him to have.

Marcus no longer needed to depend on his walking stick, nor on Esca’s shoulder to help him get around; except, when it came to his bath.

There he still needed his body slave’s help getting in and out of the sunken pool, but Marcus was working on not even needing help with that.

Of course, this new found independence was a great blessing for Marcus, but not so when it came to Esca.

After all, Esca had been bought because Marcus was unable to fend for himself, and now even while hunting Marcus was in control.

Where it used to be that all Marcus could do was sit on his horse and watch as Esca lanced and cleaned the hunts he’d caught, Marcus was now able to, not only do the lancing but come down from his horse to claim the hunt as his own.

And although Esca was happy with Marcus' improvement, he was worried.

He’d come to feel comfortable in the small villa by the lake.

He’d come to care for Sasstica and enjoy her cooking.

He respected the older Aquila, although he did not like him, altogether.

The man was a typical Roman, but unlike typical Romans, he was fair.

He didn’t mistreat his slaves, but he wasn’t as warm toward them as Marcus was to Esca.

Yet, it was evident he was a good man.

As for Marcus…

Begrudgingly so, Esca had grown to care deeply for Marcus; not that he hadn’t slapped himself in the face more than once because of it, but care for Marcus he did.

Marcus was like no other Roman Esca had ever come across: kind, giving, and patient.

Esca could add stubborn to the mix, but it wouldn’t take away from any of his master’s better qualities… and there were many of those.

But still, Esca was worried.

Esca was afraid of Marcus no longer having need of him, and he was also afraid of the interest Marcus was developing in the Roman noblewoman his uncle kept talking about, although Esca would rather not fully admit that to himself.

As of late, it was Marcus questioning his uncle about the girl, and he seemed almost regretful at the thought that a union between them was an impossibility.

An impossibility, because Senator Glaber would as soon join his house to a house as dishonorably stained, like that of the Falvia, as he would join himself to a plot against the emperor: NEVER!

Esca had only heard about the girl, until one Market Day when he finally saw her for himself.

The young woman was beautiful, angelically so: golden curls wound in an intricate high bun, ivory skin that looked as soft as silk, eyes the color of his own, and a perfectly shaped mouth. Her features seemed chiseled and her frame tall and well formed.

Of course, she would’ve caught Marcus’ attention; she’d managed to catch even Esca’s, and Esca had never been attracted to women in that way.

Marcus and the young woman, Marcia, he’d heard Marcus call her, had chatted and laughed as though they enjoyed each other’s company.

And perhaps they did.

Even the lady’s chaperone seemed upset at their obliviousness to the passing of time.

The trip back to the villa had been a quiet one with Marcus lost in thought, although if Esca could've read Marcus' mind he would have found himself within his master's thoughts.

Esca wanted to breach the silence by asking Marcus what he thought of the senator’s daughter, but he dared not.

Marcus was still his master, after all, and _he_ nothing more than Marcus’ slave.

But Esca needed to know what his master’s plans were, especially if he added a wife to the equation.

Esca needed to know if his place as Marcus’ body slave was in jeopardy.

Esca saw his position as it was in its most vulnerable state.

If Marcus no longer needed Esca, Uncle Aquila might decide to sell Esca to the mines or to another master, and neither option was a viable one as far as Esca was concerned.

Yes, he had to discover his master’s plan, but how?

He would have to give it some thought.

 

@@@@@@@@@@

 

“Marcus, my boy, I must say Rufus Galarius has restored you the use of your leg. I cannot tell you how very pleased I am.” Uncle Aquila commented as he finished his slice of honey cake and gulped down the last cup of wine for the night.

Marcus offered his uncle a wide happy grin in return. “As am I, uncle! I had begun to think I would spend the rest of my days as a cripple, having to lean on Esca for every thing aside from eating, and I have you to thank for that, sir.”

Uncle Aquila waved his nephew’s words away as though they held no importance. “My boy, fine uncle I would be were I to have the ability to see you well, and I did nothing to help you.”

“I am forever grateful, uncle… and I am feeling stronger with every passing day.”

“The gods be praised! Now, Marcus… have you give any consideration to your rejoining the army, my boy?”

Marcus shook his head, disbelieving that his uncle would have even considered such a thing.

Of course, Marcus had dreamed of joining the Eagles once again, marching with them, fighting alongside them, but… that was a dreamer’s dream.

Marcus held no delusions on the matter.

He knew his days with the Eagles were done.

“Although my leg has improved, sir… I do not think it would withstand that strenuous regiment.”

Uncle Aquila laughed and shook his head adamantly. “Absolutely not! I meant in another capacity, my boy. Administration, perhaps?”

No, Marcus had never considered _that_ option because he’d never respected those who gave orders from behind a desk.

“I have invited Claudius Marcellus to dinner tomorrow. I will bring up the subject then. I know it is not what you had planned for your life, son, but… it will make you feel useful and provide you an income. You will need an income when you decide to take a wife, my boy.”

Marcus smiled outwardly agreeing with what his uncle had said, although Marcus wasn’t sure if he saw himself getting married any time soon.

Later that night, as Marcus sat on his bed going through the day in his mind, he revisited his uncle’s conversation about marriage, and he dismissed it just as quickly as the memory came to him.

He’d rather watch Esca drag his pallet out from under Marcus’ bed and place it at the foot of his master’s bed.

Marcus enjoyed watching everything and anything Esca did.

His slave wasn’t one of those slaves, and Marcus had seen plenty, who rushed through their duties to get them over with, or for fear of reprisal from their masters if they tarried.

But Marcus got the impression Esca had no fear of reprisal, nor of anything, for that matter, and that fearlessness was an attractive quality.

Marcus was becoming aroused and this unnverved by the Celt.

He needed a distraction, and then Marcus remembered the old woman.

“Esca… do you believe yourself to have another half?”

Esca’s brow furroughed and it was obvious to Marcus his slave hadn’t a clue what his master was referring to.

“Do you believe the other half of your soul searches for you if it is on the earth?”

Esca nodded better understanding his master’s question. “No, Dominus, _we_ do not believe our soul has a mate, but I think that you do.”

The emphasis on _we_ told Marcus Esca wished him to understand that none of his kind shared a similar belief with any Roman.Wanting to explain the reason behind the question, Marcus went on to tell Esca about his run in with the old woman and what she had said to him.

Esca remained quiet and attentive throughout.

“I was told this along with a few other things… none of which came to pass.”

“Because they have not yet come to pass, Dominus, means nothing. The gods do not do what we want when we want it. You may still find that glory the old woman said was yours.”

Marcus couldn’t deny the simple truth behind Esca’s words.

Esca, unlike Marcus, was direct in his questioning, especially since it was Marcus who’d begun the conversation with him. “Have you yet met this other half the seer spoke of, Dominus?”

Esca suddenly remembered Marcus taking him by the wrist thinking Esca might be _“the one.”_

Marcus didn’t know how to answer Esca’s question.

For although Marcia was the description of his ‘other half’ personified, Marcus felt absolutely nothing for her.

She caused none of the reactions the old woman had said would mark the presence of Marcus’ other half, nor any other reaction whatsoever.

She was good at conversation and seemed genuinely gentle and kind, but that was the extent of it.

Marcia neither made Marcus’ heart pound, race nor skip its beats, unlike… Esca.

There were times Marcus felt lightheaded just being at Esca’s side, everything about him aroused every sensation Marcus had, and introduced him to emotions he’d never known he could feel.

But how could that be?

There had to be a logical explanation for that and Marcus would find it soon enough.

For now, Marcus lay back on his feather mattress, adjusting the pillows under his head. “I do not know whether I have, or whether I have not.”

Esca snuffed out the oil lamps, plunging the room into darkness, and then lied down on his pallet for the night.

Not yet ready for sleep, Marcus propped himself up on one elbow, and continued. “What do you think of Senator Glaber’s daughter?”

“I am not supposed to think _anything_ of her, Dominus.”

Marcus laughed, “I give you permission to think of her and then tell me what it is you thought of her.”

Marcus’ eyes smiled as he strained to see Esca's shadowed face.

“What do you think of her, Dominus?”

“She is beautiful and intelligent enough. Virtuous.”

“Then that seems to be all you need know, Dominus.” Esca brought the fur up over his face and bid his master a good night; not that he was able to find sleep.

Especially not after the conversation about other halves and Marcus’ assessment of the senator’s daughter.

Marcus lay down looking up into the darkness.

Why did Esca effect Marcus in such a way?

He was a slave, after all.

Why should anything Esca said matter to Marcus?

It shouldn’t, but it did.

Marcus closed his eyes and forced himself to think of Marcia, but just as quickly as her image came to mind, it was superimposed by that of Esca.

It was the first time Marcus realized thoughts of Marcia actually repulsed him, rather than fill him with excitement.

It was also the first time Marcus realized the only image that could bring a thrill to his heart and a smile to his face… was Esca’s.

His slave.

A man!

 

@@@@@@@@@@

 

The following evening Marcus sat at the dining table, the very one Rufus Galarius had used to perform the surgery more than one month earlier, enjoying a meal of boiled eggs and fish along with his uncle, Claudius Marcellus and his assistant, Servius Placidus.

Uncle Aquila sat at the head of the table wishing the boar Marcus and Esca had brought home that afternoon had come a day earlier to serve his guests a finer meal.

But… the Legate didn’t seem to mind the simple country dinner, and neither did his assistant.

The conversation was lively with Uncle Aquila and Claudius Marcellus trading old soldier stories, while Servius Placidus made small talk with a polite, but less conversive, Marcus.

Servius Placidus complained about how he envied Marcus’ having marched with the Eagles, a dream of his, but a dream his father refused to coddle.

Servius Placidus, the elder, had other plans for his son, such as becoming senator, or perhaps even consul, in his later years.

Marcus nodded more than he indulged the conversation until the conversation took an unexpected _turn._

Suddenly, Marcus’ father, as well as his tainted reputation, and the legion he’d marched to their deaths took center stage.

It was that unexpected _turn_ that would twist and shape Marcus’ fate.

That _turn_ would set in motion a chain of events that would finally prove the old woman’s words... true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I will NEVER get tired of thanking ALL of you who take the time out of your day to read this story. It is your gift to me. A gift I treasure and appreciate more than words can say. I also wish to thank, from the bottom of my heart, those of you who share your thoughts with me, comments and feedback are a silent encouragement, and I'm very grateful. Thank you, thank you, thank you.


	7. The Betrayal

"He is a slave!” Uncle Aquila had argued when Marcus told him he planned to take Esca along when he went in search of his father’s eagle. “He says what he says, and he does what he does because he has to.” Uncle Aquila was certain the Celt, no matter how devoted he may seem to Marcus, couldn’t be trusted. “And he will slit your throat the moment you cross the Wall.”

Marcus understood where his uncle was coming from, but he also thought he knew Esca: the honorable side of the man. The side that wouldn’t allow him to break his word and do anything near what Uncle Aquila was suggesting.

Or so Marcus thought.

But although Esca didn't slit Marcus' throat the moment they crossed the Wall, something had definitely changed about him . Esca became obstinate, stubborn -more so than he already was- and he would often look at Marcus through narrowed eyes. 

When Marcus ordered Esca to kill the Rogue boy, Esca had let him go, knowing well that if allowed to, the boy would run back to his people which would seal Marcus and Esca’s doom. Or… perhaps just Marcus’. He knew that now, he hadn’t known it then. Then Marcus gave Esca the benefit of the doubt figuring Esca had either been slow or seeing it was a boy, he hadn’t had the heart to kill him. Marcus, the seasoned soldier, had no such qualms, especially when their very survival was at stake. Marcus also remembered the little sympathy in Esca when they’d come upon those headless Romans hanging by their feet from trees. Marcus could see it now where he hadn’t seen it then. There was also the time while talking to a fellow Celt, Esca had seemingly forgotten Marcus was behind him, and although the Roman couldn’t understand the Celtic tongue, he didn’t need to know the language to understand he was being ridiculed and mocked by his own slave.

It was at that moment Marcus began to look at Esca through different eyes, although in his heart he still believed him to be an honorable man. But that notion would end with Guern.

When they came across the once legionnaire, Esca hadn’t trusted Guern because he was a deserter; in turn, Guern didn’t trust Esca because he knew better. Guern was a deserter, but to Marcus, deserter or not he was still a Roman, and worthy of his trust. Guern and forty other men who marched straight into an ambush set by all of the Northern tribes had run straight into the hands of several different tribesmen as they ran from the massacre. Guern had been taken by the Selgovae and had eventually married one of their women, had sons into the tribe and had become one of them. He explained how at first, it had been difficult. It had been difficult for him as well as for the other Roman legionnaires to adjust to their new lives, and difficult for the tribesmen to believe Romans could turn their back on their people. But whatever the hardships, they were preferable to the many battles they’d had to fight, the countless women they’d seen raped, thousands of children enslaved, and men dying needlessly for a greedy empire. Once gone, the legionnaires never looked back.

“What makes you think you can trust him, Centurion?” Guern had asked Marcus. “It is as I told you, I did not demand his loyalty, he gave it freely.” Guern nodded and looked over at Esca with a smirk.

Esca locked eyes with the Roman and stared him down. To Esca no matter how much Guern no longer looked or acted like a Roman, he was still a Roman and one that couldn’t be trusted. Esca misjudged Guern’s looking away with weakness. In truth, Guern ignored Esca’s confrontational gaze, simply because he respected Marcus, and Esca being Marcus’ property didn’t leave the former legionnaire much of a choice.

Then they visited the killing ground. Marcus could still hear Guern’s words, “They used those stones for altars. They sacrificed some of the officers and cut out their hearts while they were still alive.” Marcus couldn’t remember why he looked over at Esca, but he had. Perhaps looking for sympathy. The same sympathy he’d offered Esca when Esca had told him of his people and his family’s fate. And although Marcus had taken no part in either the decimation of Esca’s tribe nor the killing of Esca’s father and brothers, nor his mother… Marcus had apologized to Esca. But Esca offered nothing of the like to Marcus in return.

Then it happened, and Marcus suddenly understood as the veil of hypocrisy was unexpectedly lifted.

Marcus asked Guern if knew where to find the Seal People, after learning the clan had the Eagle in their possession, Guern had looked over at Esca and said, “Ask him. He knows. He is Brigantes. They fought there.”

Marcus had felt ill at Guern’s words, and even more so when he turned to Esca, and instead of seeing shame in the Celt’s eyes for having deceived him, Marcus saw defiance and even a proud lift of the head as though Esca couldn’t care less what Marcus thought of him.

“That was why I asked you what made you believe you could trust him?”

Marcus didn’t answer Guern. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his treacherous slave. The one he’d vouched for. The one he’d trusted so blindly. Marcus had trusted Esca because Esca had seemed honorable enough. Sadly, there was still a part of Marcus that still believed Esca honorable beyond Guern’s revelation. It was just that his honor belonged to his own, not to a Roman. The fact that Marcus had saved his life was of no consequence, and strangely enough, Marcus understood. But what Marcus couldn’t understand, or forgive was Esca’s deceit.

Marcus had never been a deceitful man, and because of it, he expected everyone to be as straightforward and honest with him as he was with them; especially when he hadn’t given Esca cause for lying to him. People lie to those who they cannot open their hearts to. Those they feel they need to be false to because the truth is something they do not wish to hear. But people do not tend to lie to those, they can open their hearts to without fear or judgement.

In the beginning, Esca had told Marcus he hated who Marcus was and what Marcus stood for, without punishment. Therefore, he had no reason to lie to Marcus, or did he? A month into his captivity, in the camp of the Seal People, Marcus still wondered what he would have done had Esca revealed the truth to him? That his tribe, his father, and brethren, had been there on the day Marcus’ father, as well as 5000 of his men, had been massacred. Would he have been fair? Just. Would he have punished Esca? 

Marcus shook his head even as he sat outside the slave’s hut, freezing cold, trying to look inconspicuous, as he watched the Seal children play and the women gathering food stuffs for their meals. No, he would NOT have punished Esca for something his father had done. Perhaps he would’ve asked his uncle put Esca on the auction block, or sell him to a nearby farm. That much Marcus knew he would’ve done. And no matter how much his uncle wanted Marcus to have a body slave, the fact, his brother’s life may have ended at the hands of Esca’s father, or another Brigantes, wouldn’t have been something Aquila could tolerate or accept kindly.

Esca passed Marcus by without looking his way, although Marcus knew he had seen him from the corner of his eye. Marcus solemly watched as his slave walked in the company of the Seal prince, followed by the warriors of the tribe, on their way to a hunt. The Roman watched until they were barely visible from where he sat. Marcus tried to find what he may have done to have turned Esca against him, but search as hard as he might, he knew he’d always been kind to him. Esca had seen Marcus vulnerable and at his weakest during his convalescence. Marcus had trusted his opinion, respected his word, and had thought him a kind of friend.

But… Esca hadn’t. That was obvious now. 

No, Esca didn't slit Marcus' throat, as Uncle Aquila had predicted, instead, he did worse: he stabbed Marcus in the back. Marcus would’ve preferred a quick death to the lingering one he now faced at the hands of the Seal People. In Marcus' eyes Esca was no different than Brutus. No, there was a small difference: Brutus had been merciful. Brutus' dagger had put Caesar out of his misery, where Marcus wouldn’t have the same respite and security of death Brutus had delivered to Caesar. Instead, Esca delivered Marcus into the hands of the Seal People to be humiliated and punished until they tired.

There was also the difference, that once dead, Caesar joined the pantheon of gods, while Brutus lived a wretched existence and reaped his just reward in the end. Marcus couldn’t even hope for that to be the case when it came to Esca.

Esca would probably be adopted into the tribe, marry one of the Seal women, and live out his days in peace and happiness. While not even the nightingales would remember to sing sad songs in memory of Marcus.

Marcus chuckled as he thought of the old woman’s words: _“A great triumph awaits you… honor and glory shall be yours.”_ “This must be the _“great triumph”_ you were talking about, daughter of a whore.” He whispered to himself. “The “honor and glory” will be theirs once they kill me.”

A Seal warrior, who noticed Marcus snickering, ran over to the seated Roman and punched the side of Marcus’ head hard. Marcus slumped over disoriented, but as soon as he’d gathered his wits, he turned defiant eyes on the warrior and sat up straight. It was important for Marcus the Seal warriors know he wasn’t easily broken. It was a matter of dignity, especially since his dignity was all he had left.

Later that afternoon, Marcus saw an opportunity for escape. After all, it wasn’t as though Marcus had resigned himself to a life as a prisoner slave of the Seal People; escape had always been at the forefront of his mind.

Two Seal princesses were standing at the bottom of a hill, chatting and giggling, while pretending to keep themselves busy, when in fact they were there to catch the Roman’s eye. The princesses, Ronat and Ula, had taken a liking to Marcus; or rather, Ula had become smitten with the Roman prisoner. Ula, the most beautiful of the two, had always been secretly attracted to Roman men, and she’d even managed to seduce a handful of them before, they’d had their heads removed from their bodies. And Marcus wasn’t going to be the exception, especially since of all the Romans ever captured and brought to the Seal camp, Marcus was the handsomest.

Ronat, on the other hand, felt empathy for Marcus’ plight. The Seal princess wasn’t interested in luring Marcus anywhere, and the fact that her sister couldn’t control her sexual appetite when it came to Roman men, disgusted her. When Ronat smiled at Marcus, as her sister flirted alongside her, she smiled in the hope that Marcus would see he had a sympathetic soul on his side. Recognizing the prompt behind the smiles, Marcus who sat perched on a rock, atop the hill, cleaning baskets of fish for that night’s festivities for the clan’s new warriors, responded to Ula with a smile of his own. He even went as far as to lick his lips suggestively, which made Ula shiver with anticipation.

The plan came quickly to Marcus: he would bed the princess, or both of them if need be, kill them if he had to, and slip away into the night. Even if he were caught and killed in the attempt, at least he would’ve tried to get away. There was honor in that. Or so he told himself. But the plan got no further than a thought, for before Marcus could see him coming, the furious Seal prince noticed Marcus’ flirtation with his sisters, and pounced on the Roman. Marcus would later come to know that Esca’s presence was the only thing that had stood between him and death. Without it, his life would’ve come to its end on that hilltop at the end of the world.

Esca forced Marcus to his knees slapping him hard across the face.

Marcus wanted to kill Esca and Marcus had never wanted to kill anyone as much as he wanted to kill Esca at that moment, even if it cost his life. It was the thought of Esca’s death that gave Marcus the strength to survive that latest humiliation at the hands of his treacherous slave. It wasn’t enough that Esca had betrayed and handed Marcus over to the men responsible for his father’s death, he mocked him repeatedly and now even dared to slap him. What his own parents had never done, his _slave_ had dared to do.

Marcus hated Esca and Marcus never had hated anyone in his life.

Oh, he had disliked, but never hated; not even those he fought, because when Marcus the soldier fought, he fought out of duty to Rome. And when Marcus the soldier killed in battle, there was no pleasure in it for him, as there was for many others who fought alongside him. But now… Now it was different.

Marcus hated Esca.

Marcus hated Esca as much as he had once cared for him, and were Esca to find himself in the arena tomorrow, Marcus would let him die. Happily.

Marcus’ uncle had been right about Esca. Esca had sworn an oath of honor to Marcus, not because he was grateful to the Roman for saving his life, but to win his trust and for no other reason. Marcus had been made the fool.

“When I get the chance… I will kill you.” Marcus promised through clenched teeth as Esca turned away from his master’s kneeling figure.

A silent Esca walked away. Marcus gave his slave's retreating figure one final look, stood up and turned back to the baskets of fish he still needed to clean. And then... that night... he dreamt of Esca. Damn him!

He could hear him whispering his name, _"Marcus."_

Marcus struggled to awaken when again he heard, _"Marcus."_

Marcus, who lay half unconscious on the freezing ground, startled at the touch of Esca's hand on his shoulder.

 _"We have to leave now,"_ Esca whispered looking around at the Seal warriors, sleeping away their drunken stupor after their initiation ceremony, _"it's our only chance."_

Marcus struggled to focus on his slave's face. He struggled to hear if there was sincerity in his voice, or treachery.

There was sincerity.

"I thought I had lost you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I want to thank you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you enjoyed it, and please don't hesitate to leave feedback. It's very much appreciated. I also wish to thank you for your comments and your kudos. I am most grateful!
> 
> And... a VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR to ALL!


	8. Esca's Side of the Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we read what was going on through Esca's head during their trip through the Northern wilds.

“He is a slave. He says what he says, and he does what he does because he has to.” Uncle Aquila had argued when Marcus told him he planned to take Esca along when he went in search of his father’s eagle. “He will slit your throat the moment you cross the Wall.”

But the old man was wrong. 

Esca could as easily slit Marcus’ throat as he could his father’s throat, or his mother’s, or his brothers. Not that he didn’t wish he could slit Marcus’ throat. Esca hated the feelings he struggled with when it came to Marcus, but there they were and there was little he could do to change them.

And although Aquila was right when it came to most slaves: saying what they said, and doing what they did because it was expected of them, that had never been he. Esca’s unwillingness to lie, even to save his own skin, had been what landed him in the arena in the first place. 

Esca didn’t care about looking good in front of his masters, or becoming their favorite, and because of that he always said the truth no matter the consequences. 

Esca had stood in the threshold between Marcus’ room and the veranda watching as Marcus argued Esca’s fidelity to the oath of honor he’d sworn Marcus to his uncle, who must have thought his nephew to be the greatest of all fools. But Marcus didn’t take Esca’s word lightly. It was obvious to Esca that Marcus truly believed that oath was enough to secure him safe passage to the North, or anywhere, unless some unforeseen misfortune struck them down.

And Marcus wasn’t wrong. Not completely wrong, anyway.

Had Esca hated Marcus? 

Yes, he had, but… that was before he’d slowly fallen for the handsome kindhearted Roman. 

Even if Esca still hated Marcus, Esca would not have been able to go against his word. His oath. Esca was still a Brigantes; son of Cunoval who had never broken his word; not even to his enemy.

So, Marcus hadn’t been wrong in trusting Esca; what he had been right in was how Esca had changed after crossing the Wall.

Esca had felt free. As though he were back home, and it didn’t matter that his home was south of the Wall. The Celts may have belonged to different tribes, settled in different parts of Britannia, but they shared blood and it was that blood that now called out to Esca.

And Esca battled that call as hard as he could. 

He battled against that part of his honor that belonged to his people, his tribe, and the part that had sworn its loyalty to his Roman master. 

But Esca could feel Marcus beginning to have doubts. Esca could see it. Marcus’ doubts were evident in the way he looked at Esca: narrowly and from the corner of his eyes. 

It began when they came upon the headless Romans hanging by their feet from the trees in Caledonia. 

Marcus had been affected by the sight, he had even wanted to stop to give them proper burial, but Esca had disregarded his master’s wishes and rode on ahead of him, forcing Marcus to follow. 

“We cannot chance being seen by rogue warriors.” Was the explanation Esca offered Marcus. In truth, Esca didn’t care about the headless Romans hanging from the trees, no more than Romans would’ve cared coming across headless Britons in the same condition. The Romans had no empathy for anyone but themselves and that was proven the following day.

Marcus ordered Esca to kill a rogue boy who’d come upon them with his companions. Marcus and Esca killed the companions, but the boy managed to get away. Spotting him, and trying to stop him from alerting any other rogue warriors in the area, Marcus ordered Esca to kill him. But Esca hadn’t been able to end the boy’s life for the simple fact that he was a boy. No older than his own brother had been the last time Esca had seen him as a Roman dagger slit his throat. 

It was then Esca had seen the true Marcus. 

The soldier behind the man. It was then Esca had seen that Marcus was no different than the man who’d slit his brother’s throat seven years earlier. Heartless. 

Marcus stalked the boy, after having sent his dagger flying into the boy’s back, knelt behind him and slit his throat; like that other Roman had done to Esca’s brother.

“Next time do not hesitate. Had he gotten away it would be us on those rocks, instead of him.”

Until then, Esca hadn’t thought he could ever again hate Marcus, but he had hated him at that moment, and from then on, the air between them was unclear and heavy. It was also at that point that Esca decided he would never reveal what he knew about the Eagle, not that he’d ever intended on doing so. 

Esca figured a few months of empty searches would wear Marcus out and he’d finally decide to turn back and return to Calleva. But Esca didn’t know Marcus’ tenacious nature, and how he was willing to scour every inch of Caledonia, no matter how long it took, if it meant finding his father’s eagle.

One evening, they came across a Briton shepherding his sheep and Marcus asked Esca to inquire if he knew anything concerning the fate of the Ninth Legion, or its Eagle.

Esca approached the man, but instead of asking about the Ninth, or the Eagle, Esca told the man Marcus was a deserter from the army looking to buy a farm and get as far away as possible from anyone who might know him. 

The man could hardly believe a soldier as fierce looking as Marcus was a coward, but he shrugged and chuckled. “If he is looking for a place to hide, why does he not look under one of the rocking stones… none of his kind will go looking there. I can promise him that.” Both the man and Esca looked over at Marcus, and then back at each other, and shared a laugh at the Roman’s expense.

Marcus did not need to know the language to know he was being mocked, and so he put his dagger to the man’s throat and forced him to tell Esca what he needed to know.

p>Did Esca feel he was betraying his friend?

After all, Marcus wasn’t a coward, a deserter, or looking for a place to hide, and worse… he trusted Esca. But since the rogue boy’s death at Marcus’ hands, Esca couldn’t bring himself to care what Marcus thought of him.

Esca had sworn an oath of honor to Marcus, to keep him safe from harm, and never to abandon him. No part of that oath included Esca betraying or killing his own kind, unless it was in self defense as it had been with the rogue warriors.

NOT the boy.

Yes, Esca was betraying Marcus’ trust, but in betraying that trust Esca was helping to keep Marcus alive. Or so Esca reasoned.

And then came Guern.

Esca hadn’t anticipated the likes of Guern: a Centurion who’d marched with the Ninth Legion, had deserted to one of the tribes, and was probably privy to information Esca would rathered Marcus remain ignorant to.

Noting the danger Guern presented, Esca tried his very best to turn Marcus against him. “I do not trust him.” He said to Marcus as he unpacked their bags. “He is a deserter. That alone should tell you he is not to be trusted.”

“He is a Roman, and as such, worthy of my confidence.”

Esca hid his apprehension for he knew it was only a matter of time until Guern unmasked him in front of Marcus. 

The once Roman hadn’t only joined the Selgovae, he had married one of their women, and had had sons born into the tribe. 

In other words… he was one of them.

If anything, Guern would have heard the stories of the heroes who had ambushed the Ninth and decimated it to the last man. Among those heroes had been Cunoval, Esca’s father, who had fought side by side with Tradul, Chieftain of the Seal People.

“What makes you think you can trust him, Centurion?” Guern had asked Marcus and Marcus had answered that Esca had given his loyalty freely in return for Marcus having saved his life in the arena.

The smirk on Guern’s face had told Esca he was not as foolish with his trust as Marcus obviously was, and this was worrisome to Esca.

And then it came to a head.

Guern took them to the killing ground, or… the Place of Heroes, as Cunoval, and all the men who’d ever told the story, called it.

Esca caught Marcus looking his way more than a few times, but not with accusation or hate. The Roman was looking for his slave, his friend, to show the very same empathy he had shown him when Esca had shared the fate of his family with Marcus that one day. Marcus had apologized to Esca on the loss of his family and his tribe, that day, but Esca couldn’t do the same for Marcus. Never and that made Esca feel conflicted and worried.

Conflicted: because there was no way Esca could show Marcus the empathy the Roman was looking for without blaming his people for what they had done there twenty years earlier. That would have been betraying them, and there was no way Esca could do that.

Worried: because he knew, by the looks Guern threw his way, that the moment of his secret’s discovery was drawing near.

“They used those stones for altars.” Guern narrated the slaughter as they walked through the sacred ground. Esca looked at the stones, the skeletal remains, and the rusted armor amazed at the scope of the massacre. He couldn’t deny the pride he felt at that moment at what his people had accomplished: they had stopped the great serpent from devouring them whole. 

“They sacrificed some of the officers and cut out their hearts while they were still alive.” Guern continued.

The massacre of the Ninth Legion had been such an overwhelming blow to Rome, that they had abandoned Caledonia forever, and cut themselves off for all time with the building of that giant wall. They wanted nothing to do with the North, nor the people that inhabited it.

And then it happened.

Guern told Marcus if he needed to know where to find the Eagle, he best ask Esca since his people had fought alongside the Seal warriors that day.

Esca didn’t want to look at Marcus, but he was no coward either. 

No matter what, first and foremost, Esca was Brigantes and he wasn’t ashamed of what his people had done. They had acted as freedom fighters fighting for the freedom of their people and their land. 

There was no shame in that.

Esca looked into Marcus’ eyes defiantly, but Marcus didn’t slap him, or humiliate him with questions in front of Guern, as Esca had expected. That would come later.

When they were found by the Seal warriors, Esca’s blood ran cold for he had not wanted that to happen. Everything he’d done, walking them around in circles, pretending to ask questions of the people they came across, had been to keep Marcus safe from harm. And now, because of Guern, there they were.

Esca had thought quickly.

“He is my slave.” Esca had told the Seal prince, for that was the only way to save both their skins.

At that moment, all the anger Esca had pent up inside over the death of the rogue boy, was gone and only a great anxiety remained. Suddenly, saving Marcus was the most important thing to Esca. 

On the way to the Seal camp, Marcus was tied to his horse and dragged behind him for days. He wasn’t given anything to eat, drink, nor was he allowed to sleep. Whenever a Seal warrior noticed him dozing off, they would kick, or punch him into wakefulness. A small part of Esca thought Marcus, the Roman, was getting exactly what he had coming to him. But that was a very small part of Esca. The greater part of Esca found himself wishing they'd never left Calleva, even if that meant he never again had the opportunity to feel as free as he'd felt since they'd crossed the Wall.

Esca knew Marcus now hated him beyond reason, but he would not chance telling Marcus his plan even for Marcus’ peace of mind. 

Many times Esca would watch outwardly passively as the Seal warriors mistreated Marcus, and although he would’ve liked nothing more than to run them through with his sword, he could not. Instead, 

Esca’s chest would puff watching his friend and master defy the warriors with his proud eyes and unbreakable will. 

And then Marcus tried something stupid.

It was one of two things: either Marcus had a fancy for one of the Seal princesses, which Esca didn't want to dwell upon, or Marcus was hoping to seduce the girls and win his freedom that way. Whatever the reason, it was foolish and Marcus would soon find out just how foolish it was.

As Esca walked beside Liathan, the Seal prince, a warrior approached Liathan and told him the Roman was disprespecting his sisters. Liathan sprinted toward the hill where the Roman sat cleaning a basket full of fish, and the next thing Esca knew the Seal prince had punched Marcus. It was obvious to Esca Liathan was about to slit the Roman’s throat, and he needed to act quickly.

Esca stepped in. It was his slave after all. 

Esca yelled at Marcus to kneel, grabbing him by the hair and forcing him to his knees when the Roman refused to do so voluntarily, and slapping him hard across the face as a show of punishment to appease the Seal prince.

It was the Seal prince’s respect for Esca that stayed his hand from spilling Marcus’ life blood onto the frozen ground, and Esca didn’t know what god to thank for that miracle. 

“When I get the chance… I will kill you.” Marcus promised his slave through clenched teeth, and Esca knew it was no empty threat. The Brigantes warrior suddenly understood how deeply his master hated him. Esca turned away and joined the Seal warriors in the Chieftain’s roundhouse.

As Esca sat among the men of the Seal tribe, he wondered if losing Marcus’ admiration had been worth it, but since he couldn’t see an alternative to their situation that would benefit Marcus, if not him, Esca sighed in resignation. Once the Eagle was in Marcus’ hands, he could decide whether he could forgive Esca, or not. If he couldn’t, then Esca would figure out what to do, but that wasn’t anything he needed to think about now. The Eagle’s rescue was still a foggy plan, until…

“You will join the festivites for our warriors initiation into manhood this night, Esca.” The Chieftain declared and Esca’s heart lept with hope. 

That night, as the Horned One came from the water to intitate the new warriors, carrying the Ninth’s golden Eagle poised on a long wooden stick Marcus ran out onto the warrior’s circle. He was knocked unconscious before reaching the Horned One by one of the warriors.

Esca, who hadn’t been invited to the initiation itself, had gone to his small roundhouse, without knowing what had happened to Marcus. Then he heard a light tapping on the seal skin that covered the doorway. It was Ronat, one of the Seal princesses.

“Were I you, I would go to the beach and rescue your slave from what awaits him in the morning for having done what he did.”

“What did he do?” Was all a horrified Esca could mutter.

“The old warriors say he meant to attack the Horned One and take the Sacred Eagle from him.”

Not knowing whether to trust Ronat, or not, Esca shook his head and tssked, “If that is what he did then he deserves what is planned for him.”

Ronat shook her head. “Then let it be on your head, Brigantes. I did what I felt I must.” The princess turned and left.

Esca immediately grabbed his cloak, his sword, as well as Marcus’ sword, and headed to the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you who are following the story for continuing on this journey with me. Also thank you for sharing your comments and feedback with me. I hope you enjoy this latest update.


	9. The Wall

The Wall was within walking distance now. Soon they would be walking passed the gates and on their way to Eburacum where they would relieve themselves of their burden: the Eagle.

As they reached the top of the hill, Marcus stopped abruptly forcing Esca to do the same when he noticed Marcus was no longer at his side. Marcus looked back at the vast solitary expanse of green land they had covered, and then at Esca. “If it is in your heart to stay, my friend, you can do so. There is no need for you to accompany me the rest of the way.” Of course, Marcus hoped Esca would not take him up on his offer, but it was an offer that needed to be given, either way. Esca was a free man now, and he should be given the choice to stay with his own kind. It was important to Marcus that Esca not feel obligated to return to Calleva with him if that was not what he wished to do.

Esca straightened up and looked at the hills and mountains spread out around them, and Marcus’ heart constricted as he noted the look in Esca’s face. There was longing there, he could see it, and Marcus was certain Esca was going to chose to stay.

But he was wrong.

“Nothing holding me here.” Was all the wiry Briton said and took up his pace once again.

Marcus couldn’t help the wide smile that crossed his face no more than he could help the pure, unabashed joy that spread throughout his being. Esca had chosen to stay with him… or had he. After all, the fact that Esca had chosen to leave the north wasn’t very telling, especially since he wasn’t native to the north, to begin with. Esca’s people were from Isca Brigantium, in the south, so perhaps what he planned was to stay with Marcus until they made it there, and then he’d leave. A nervousness overtook Marcus.

“What will you do now?” Esca asked as they walked ever closer to the Wall.

“I had thought to go back home and buy back my family’s farm, but… I have decided against it. I have yet to receive a small pension for the years I served with the Eagles, and I am certain a substantial reward will be added for the return of the Eagle.”

Esca nodded and smiled.

“What are you smiling about?” Marcus asked flashing a wide happy grin of his own.

“I was thinking how the old woman had not been wrong, after all. Did she not predict that great honor and glory awaited you?”

Marcus stopped in his tracks.

How had it taken Esca to remind him of that very significant part? Marcus had been very quick to remember the old woman’s words when he’d suffered his injury, and his military career had come to an end. He’d also had no problem remembering the old woman’s words when he’d sat outside the slave’s quarters in the Seal camp watching Esca walk alongside the Seal prince as they left on their daily hunt. But… now, as he carried the weight of the golden standard on his back, steps from the Wall, the old woman’s words had eluded him.

“Yes… I must admit she was right.” And they began their walk to the Wall once again.

“So, Marcus… have you given thought to what you intend to do with the money that is given you?”

“I have. I intend to buy a farm.”

“A farm?” Esca lifted an eyebrow in question and laughed openly.

“Yes, a farm. I come from a long line of farmers, you know. Besides… it is what most of us do once our days with the Eagles are over.”

Esca nodded understanding. “And what will you grow on this farm, my friend?”

“Wheat. Onions.” They both laughed.

“How about a family Marcus?”

And that was the question Esca had been digging for all along. He wanted to discover Marcus’ plans for the future for a very good reason: Esca needed to know if there was any room for him in this new life Marcus was planning to build for himself. “A wife. Children.”

And for Marcus… a more painful question could not have been posed. Marcus had come to realize as they made their way back to the Wall, that his feelings for Esca were not what he had thought them to be: those of a friend, toward a friend. Somewhere along the way, they had changed. But two things impeded Marcus from making his feelings known to Esca: from the very beginning, Esca had made it very clear that he hated everything Marcus was, what he stood for, and the old woman’s words.

The old woman had seen Marcus reunited with his other half: a woman. The old woman had been very specific on that. So, why would Marcus threaten his relationship with Esca for something he knew could never be? Nothing could come of it? What _could_ come of it was the loss of Esca’s friendship and Marcus wasn’t willing to risk that.

“Yes. A wife and children. Sons to carry the Flavia name into the future, especially now that it is no longer a shameful tainted thing. I would give my father that.”

Esca felt Marcus’ words hit the very pit of his stomach as it dropped.

There it was. Marcus had a plan and Esca, if included, was a minor player in that plan.

Esca had had a dream. Esca had dreamed that perhaps he and Marcus could begin a life somewhere. Perhaps somewhere in Spain, with that farm, Marcus had spoken about, but instead of raising wheat and onions, they could raise and train horses. And in the evenings, they could retire to their small home, and find comfort within each other’s arms in their bed. Many times, whenever privacy permitted, Esca had put his hand on his cock with that thought in mind. A sated Marcus lying in his arms, sharing languid kisses, sweet words whispered among themselves. Esca had wanted that.

As they reached the Wall, Esca stopped and looked behind him one last time, and Marcus caught the moment. “Have you decided to stay, my friend?”

And in the seconds it took Esca to look back at Marcus, and shake his head, Marcus could swear his heart had stopped beating. Marcus and Esca spent the night at the Wall since, by the time they reached it, the sun was beginning to set. The next morning, shortly after sunrise, Marcus and Esca were given food stuffs, two horses, and they were off to Eburacum.

@@@@@@@@@@

As Marcus and Esca emerged from the administrative building in Eburacum’s forum, after having handed the Eagle to the Legate of the Sixth Legion, Marcus gave the choice of where to go next to Esca. And had they not had that conversation before reaching the Wall, Esca would’ve chosen to go to a local inn where he would have slowly, cautiuously introduced Marcus to the idea of becoming lovers. But… they had had that conversation, and now everything was different.

Marcus needed to get back to Calleva to resume his interrupted life, but where did that leave Esca? Esca had no life to resume, not in Calleva anyway, especially now that he was free. The only place he could resume his life, or a fragment of it, was in Eburacum. He knew of an uncle who lived there unless he had taken his family and gone elsewhere. But… wherever he’d gone, Esca was certain he could find him if need be.

“Then let us go to Calleva.”

And Marcus couldn’t be happier. Esca had again chosen him. Perhaps there was a chance. Perhaps in time, with a patience, Esca could overlook what Marcus was, everything he stood for, and he could grow to love Marcus as much as Marcus loved him. But… what was he thinking? The old woman’s prediction hung like a wall between them.

“To Calleva.” It didn’t matter to Marcus as long as Esca was near him. He could love him from afar, secretly, or perhaps he would fall so deeply in love with his other half that anything he felt for Esca would disappear. But feeling as he felt about his friend Marcus couldn’t believe that possible. However unlikely it may have seemed, there was no other explanation. It had been proven: the old woman’s words were prophetic, and not to be taken lightly. She had said Marcus would share a “great love” with his other half, a woman of fair hair and eyes the color of water, and although Esca fit the description, Esca was not a woman. Therefore, this great love, whenever it came, and whomever it was, would be enough to supplant the love Marcus felt for Esca.

There was a kind of sadness to that, and since they were on their way home, finally, happy in each other’s company, Marcus refused to explore the subject any further. Esca, on the other hand, had made up his mind. All he needed was a sign.

@@@@@@@@@@

When Marcus and Esca reached the villa, they paused for a brief moment taking in everything that had happened. How they had left there four months short of a year, had traveled thousands of leagues, looked death in the face more times than they wished to remember, and lived to tell about it. They finally looked at each other, smiled, and passed the stone gate. As Marcus reached the front doors, he could hear voices coming from within. Visitors.

He looked over at Esca and shrugged his shoulders. “Who ever it is, I promise you they do not expect to see us walk passed those doors.” They both chuckled as they entered the villa.

“Marcus!” Uncle Aquila jumped up from his seat and Marcus could see his uncle was struggling to keep himself from falling down. Marcus hurried over and embraced his uncle tightly. Marcus was suddenly regretful that he had asked the Legate to not send word to his uncle wishing to surprise him. Uncle Aquila looked at Esca over Marcus’ shoulder and smiled. He drew away from Marcus and walked to the man he had once purchased to serve as a body slave to his nephew. “Esca,” Uncle Aquila extended his forearm which Esca accepted respectfully. “You have my gratitude until the day I draw my last breath.”

Marcus hadn’t paid attention to who the guests were his attention being solely on his uncle, but as Uncle Aquila stepped to the side to make the introductions, Marcus’ eyes fell on the beautiful and familiar features of the Lady Marcia Claudia. Could it be providence? Marcus, who’s eyes had locked with those of the Lady, felt a light touch at his back, and soft words being spoken. Esca. But all Marcus could feel or hear was the erratic beating of his heart. He felt winded.

A once confused Marcus, no longer had any doubts. Marcia Claudia was his other half. She had to be!

And Marcus’ reaction to Marcia Claudia was not lost on Esca.

That was the sign he'd needed. The following morning would find Esca leaving Calleva and Marcus behind him, and on his way back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many and thousands of thank yous to those of you who've read the story. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your comments, kudos, and/or feedback. I really appreciate all of those, and ALL of you!! I hope you enjoy this chapter.


	10. Loneliness Remembers, What Happiness Forgets

Two months later, Esca, having found his uncle, Brann, in Eburacum, was falling into the new routine that had become his life since leaving Calleva, and Marcus behind him. Finding Uncle Brann hadn’t been as difficult as Esca had thought it might be. 

Uncle Brann had established himself, and earned a reputable reputation, as an excellent blacksmith; therefore, all Esca had had to do was mention his uncle’s name and he had been immediately directed to him. Uncle Brann had been overjoyed to see his sister’s son once again: alive and well. Uncle Brann, along with a few others, had come to know of Esca’s having fallen into the hands of slavers after having been captured by the Romans, and they’d considered him long dead. So, the joy felt not only by Uncle Brann, but by the remaining Brigantes, was immeasurable. 

Esca felt as though he’d come home, even though he was no longer on his father’s lands. But being with family was comfortable and it made Esca feel he belonged; a feeling he’d never known even in the company of Marcus.

Uncle Brann immediately put Esca to work learning his trade so that Esca could eventually afford a life and family of his own. As a matter of fact, Brann already had a girl in mind for his nephew: Morgane, the daughter of a Carvetti tradesman, who’d been left as a ward of Uncle Brann upon her father’s death. 

Uncle Brann had taken Morgane into his household and treated her no different than had she been one of his own kin, and now that Morgane was of marriageable age, Uncle Brann had been waiting for a man deserving of her to come along. Uncle Brann had known Morgane’s father for many years, and he knew her father would have settled for nothing less than the best of men for his daughter. Esca fit those qualifications, not only because of who he was, but because of what he could become. Uncle Brann was certain there was no better man for Morgane than Esca.

Esca was diligent and dedicated at his work, so much so that he was quickly becoming a master at his new trade, but was he content with his new life? No. Esca missed Marcus. He missed seeing Marcus daily. He missed hearing Marcus’ voice, listening to whatever he had to say, hunting with him, and the conversations they shared every evening before retiring each to his own room. 

Now, Esca’s life no longer included Marcus, and although there were times he felt satisfied, often… he did not. Many times, Esca found himself wishing he would have never left Marcus’ side, but he had had no other choice. Esca loved Marcus. Not as a friend loves a friend, nor as a brother loves a brother, but as a man loves another man; and Marcus, Esca was certain, did not feel the same. 

Of that Esca had no doubt. 

Marcus was in search of his other half. The other half the old woman had predicted would come to fill his life with love and joy. Esca knew he was not that: Marcus’ other half. Marcus’ other half was a woman, perhaps the very woman who’d suddenly taken Marcus’ focus away from Esca. There was no longer a place in Marcus’ life for Esca, and it was because of that Esca had decided to leave.

It was for the best, though. Marcus would no longer feel he had a responsibility toward Esca, and Esca was finally free of his oath to Marcus, although that oath had never been a burden.   
What was a burden was the expectation his uncle had for him: marrying Morgane.

Esca did not wish to marry Morgane, nor any other woman for that matter. But… how did Esca make Uncle Brann aware of it without having his uncle feel he was letting him down?  
Morgane was beautiful and sweet. Very much like many of the girls he had grown up around: carrot color hair, ivy green eyes, and pale skin with blushing cheeks. But the girls Esca grew up around never interested him as had the boys. 

Esca’s first love had been a boy from the Brigantes of Hibernia and Brian was his name. Brian had traveled from Hibernia to Britannia with his mother to visit his aunt who was married to one of Cunoval’s spears. While there, Brian and Esca had become friends, and then they became more than friends, but their relationship ended when summer came to its close. Brian and his mother returned to Hibernia and that was the last Esca ever heard of him.

After that, Esca had many lovers. Lovers because they were never more than that; men he slept with and fucked, that meant little to nothing to him, until his eyes met Marcus’ across the sands. From that moment on, Esca had thought of no other, felt for no other, nor yearned for anyone other than Marcus. 

But...that was over now.

Esca had left Marcus’ side to save himself the pain of having to see his Roman in the arms of another. Perhaps by now there had been a betrothal; after all, two months had passed since he’d left Calleva. Esca preferred not to think on what might be happening with Marcus and the Lady Marcia, but he couldn’t help it. Those thoughts always found their way into his mind when he least expected it, and when they did, his heart would ache as though it were breaking into a million pieces.

This was his life now. 

There in Eburacum, as a blacksmith’s apprentice under his uncle’s employ, and with the prospect of marriage looming soon. It was not the life Esca would have wanted, nor the one he’d dreamed of while watching Marcus sleep, but it was his life now and perhaps he could make the best of it.

**********

But Esca had been wrong.

Even after two months, there had been no betrothal, and there would be none with the Lady Marcia. The Roman maiden had been promised to the son of a prominent senator; and she was anxious to get back to Rome and her future husband. It was then Marcus had realized Marcia Claudia was not the other half the old woman had foreseen, and there was no one else in Calleva that fit the description given him. 

Therefore, there would be no betrothals for Marcus. Not in Calleva, anyway. 

Life for Marcus had continued pretty much the same it had been when he’d first arrived at his uncle’s villa shortly after his injury; except for his newfound celebrity. Where then, no one outside of Kaeso, a fellow magistrate of Uncle Aquila, his niece, Cottia, and Lutorius, had visited an infirming Marcus, now there were more visitors than the household was willing to receive. Roman men of wealth and nobility came to the villa to pay their respects and listen to Marcus’ account of the Eagle’s rescue.

In truth, Marcus hated having to retell the story, not only because it was exhausting having to relive moments of both anxiety and dread, but because Esca was intricately involved in every second of those memories. And Marcus would rather move past his feelings for Esca, then dwell in them. Especially since Esca’s return was a hopeless thing.

Although, Esca had been gone only two months to Marcus it felt as though it had been a year; he was lonely. Lonelier than he’d ever felt before. There was also an emptiness deep within Marcus; an emptiness he couldn’t explain to himself, let alone anyone else. After all, it wasn’t as though Esca had been in his life from the beginning. 

Marcus could remember missing his mother after her death, but when he thought and compared the two, even that loneliness had been different. Marcus had missed his mother’s presence, her soft voice, her sweet reassuring smile, and her loving nature. But with Esca it was that and so much more. More Marcus couldn’t bring himself to understand, or… perhaps didn’t want to bring himself to understand. 

Marcus’ sleep, the sleep he’d craved and looked forward to, eluded him. And on those rare nights when it came, his sleep was so restless, and perturbed, that Marcus would find himself wishing he’d stayed awake. There was once a dream of such a pleasant nature, that upon awaking, Marcus frantically prayed to the gods to let him return to it; and when he could not… he made a life altering decision right there and then. 

In that dream Marcus found himself straddling Esca, exploring the Celt’s body with his hands, bending down to take Esca’s mouth in a furious kiss, as he fondled his lover’s manhood with a hungry hand. Marcus could smell the scent of their lust, feel the texture of his lover’s skin, and the hardness within his grip as he stroked. Marcus could feel Esca trembling and arching beneath him as his senses were overwhelmed by the pleasure of it all. 

“Fuck me Marcus… please… fuck me… now.” Esca had moaned.

Marcus had obliged Esca’s wishes and as he did he kissed his lips, licked into his mouth, and cupped his face sweetly with one hand, as the other position his manhood at Esca’s entrance and slid in. When suddenly.....

Marcus had been awakened by a loud thump outside in the gardens, as Uncle Aquila’s dog, Quintus, knocked over a large potted plant under the pergola. Marcus’ eyes had shot open finding him alone on his back, sweating, with a full erection. Marcus looked around the room, on the floor, hoping to find Esca’s pallet laid out with Esca sleeping soundly upon it.

When Marcus realized he’d been snatched out of his dream, and drawn into the reality of Esca’s absence, Marcus closed his eyes trying to force himself back to into the dream. At least in his dream Marcus could be with Esca the way he secretly wished to be for he was in love with the Celt. There was no denying it any longer.

After a few failed attempts, a frustrated Marcus dragged himself out of bed, washed his face, and dressed for the day. Marcus hated the mornings almost as much as he hated the days and nights for they seemed far too long. The nights would have been more bearable with the mercy of a deep sleep, but since he’d been denied that privilege, Marcus felt as though his torture had no repose.  
Everything reminded Marcus of Esca: the villa, his room, the stables, the stone gate, the lake, the blue sky, the green grass. There was nothing Marcus could look at or listen to that didn’t remind him of Esca. It was almost unbearable. 

Each day was more painful than the one before had been, and Marcus did not think he could continue his daily suffering much longer. He would put a stop to his agony once and for all.

“Ah, there you are, my boy.” A cheerful Uncle Aquila greeted Marcus as the latter walked out onto the veranda where Marcipor had served the morning meal.

“Uncle.”

“I suppose you were awakened by clumsy old Quintus.” Uncle Aquila chuckled gayly as was his way. “You can blame Varinia for that, my boy. I told her not to place any of the potted plants on the steps leading to the dock, but she did not listen.”

Marcus nodded silently. The former centurion seemed unfocused and Uncle Aquila took note.

“Is everything well, Marcus? You seem distracted.”

Marcus waited until he had swallowed the juicy fig he’d picked out of the fruit bowl to answer. “I have come to a decision Uncle.”

Uncle Aquila looked up from his cup of honeyed water, “And what decision would that be, my boy?”

Marcus could read the anticipation on his uncle’s face, but it could not be helped. Staying in Calleva for his uncle’s sake, would be at his own sake, and Marcus did not wish to become a martyr.

“I have decided to return to Etruria, Uncle.”

“Etruria? But, my boy, I am sure you know your father’s land…” Uncle Aquila was interrupted by Marcus.

“My father’s farm was not the only piece of land in Etruria, Uncle.” Marcus stopped, locked eyes with his uncle, and then continued. “The other day I spoke to Valerius Remus who offered to sell me one of his farms in Etruria for near to nothing.”

Uncle Aquila did not want Marcus to leave Calleva, especially since Marcus was the only living relative he had left. But no matter what, Uncle Aquila knew Marcus had to carve his own path. The younger Aquila had a right to be happy, and happiness was the one thing Uncle Aquila no longer saw in Marcus. 

Marcus had been happy after Esca entered his life. They seemed more like friends than master and slave, but now that Esca was gone, Marcus had reverted back to the days before Esca’s arrival at the villa.

Of course, it was understandable; the bond the two had forged during their journey up north was an inevitable one. And although breaking that bond had seemed a simple task for Esca, it seemed near impossible for Marcus. Aquila did not want Marcus to leave, but if it was the only way for his nephew to find his purpose, and from that the happiness he so overwhelming deserved, then so be it.

“Well, then… you would be a fool to refuse such an attractive offer, my boy. When would you be leaving?”

“By weeks end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much, friends, for reading and commenting. It really means the world to me. And for those of you who leave comments and kudos... thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you enjoy this new chapter.


	11. I Don't Want to Let You Go

Marcus had become accustomed to his new life in Etruria although it had been a difficult process; for that process had involved leaving Esca behind him. Far behind him… in every way possible… but Marcus had no doubt it was for the best. 

Esca had wished to go in search of his own, and Marcus could not be part of Esca’s journey. Part of his life or his future. And it was not that Marcus had accepted Esca would no longer be a part of his life, but there was nothing he could do. Esca needed to find his niche and make his life as did Marcus. That was the way it had to be. Marcus remembered the old woman’s words and he came to a decision. He thought perhaps back home in Etruria he would finally come across his other half and in time Esca’s memory would fade. He could only hope.

Good fortune had accompanied Marcus to Etruria. 

Upon his arrival Marcus found his father’s farm for sale and he set about purchasing it. Now he not only owned his father’s land again, but he also owned the farm land he had already purchased before leaving Calleva. Marcus took up residence in the house that had been his home until he had left to join the legions at 17. The villa had not fallen into disrepair and needed nothing more than the purchase of furniture for a handful of rooms and nothing more.

Marcus immediately manumitted the slaves he had bought along with the house and offered employment to those who wished to remain. There were two who wished to return to the land of their fathers, and to them Marcus was generous. 

In an attempt to settle in as best he could, Marcus made it a point to attend every dinner he was invited to, and he had even been the guest of honor at an imperial banquet given by the emperor in Marcus’ honor. The Romans were taken by the handsome young hero who had braved the Northern wilds for the sake of Rome’s honor. There was not a man who would not gladly give his daughter to the valiant Marcus Flavius Aquila; including the emperor himself.

“My only regret,” Emperor Antoninus had expressed at the imperial banquet, “is that we only have one daughter for it would have been my great pleasure to present her in marriage to young Marcus here.” Had it not been that Faustina the Younger was already promised to Marcus Aurelius, Emperor Antoninus would have betrothed her to Marcus for his admiration of the Roman hero was great indeed.

For some time, a rumor had spread that Faustina the Younger had fallen in love with Marcus and wished to dissolve her betrothal to Aurelius to marry the Roman hero. As for the emperor, he never acknowledged any such rumors, and Faustina the Younger waved them away when approached about them. Whenever friends would ask her about the validity of the rumors, Faustina the Younger would answer, “I would as soon marry a commoner, no matter how heroic, as I would throw myself into a vat of boiling oil.” 

Soon the example quelled the waggling tongues and the rumor was not heard again. 

Marcus could not have been more pleased, especially since he had no wish to marry Faustina the Younger, or any other woman unless that woman fit the description of his ‘other half,’ and so far that had not come to pass. In all truth, Marcus had no inkling to marry any woman for that matter, for they no longer held any attraction to him; but neither did any men except for one: Esca. 

Had Marcus been interested, there had been more than a fair share of handsome young men at the dinner parties and banquets Marcus had attended who were obviously attracted to him. They would make it a point to sit beside him, tell stories and jokes to catch his attention but to no avail. And then… at a dinner party, at the villa of Marcus’ neighbor, Aelius Messala, a young man with golden hair and eyes the color of water caught Marcus’ eye. There was something about him that called to Marcus. Perhaps because his looks echoed Esca: his height, his wiry frame, the color of his eyes, or the angular features of his face. 

Or perhaps not.

Marcus had not acted upon his interest that night, nor did he have any intention of doing so. Marcus had come to Etruria in search of his ‘other half’: a woman, not a man. Aside from that, there was only one-man Marcus would consider for anything other than a friend: Esca. But the thought of Esca was a painful one and not something Marcus wished to dwell upon.

A few days after the dinner party, Marcus saw Aelius Messala walking in his vineyard with the golden haired young man, showing off the plump purple grapes that were ripe for picking. Aelius Messala raised a hand and called out a friendly greeting to Marcus who sat under the shade of his garden pergola. Marcus immediately stood up and walked over to greet the retired magistrate more formally.

“Beautiful day today is it not, good Marcus?”

Marcus smiled shyly and nodded, “As beautiful a day as those I remember from my youth.”

“I was showing young Gaius here the fruits of my vineyard. The grapes are ready to be made into wine, and a fine wine they make, good Marcus. I shall gift you five amphorae so that you may taste the sweet liquid and judge for yourself.”

Marcus accepted the offer for he had learned, since his arrival in Etruria, that Aelius Messala was not one to take no for an answer. Marcus was also grateful to Aelius Messala for having introduced him to everyone Marcus needed to know, and for taking him under his wing in a matter of speaking. 

“Gods protect me, forgive my absentmindedness Marcus. I have not introduced you to my wife’s nephew, Gaius Antonius. He will be our guest for the summer before returning to Lugdunum.”

“Lugdunum… capital of the Gauls” Marcus commented to the handsome youth directly.

“Yes, sir.” The young man answered and Marcus was struck. Even his voice bore a semblance to that of Esca’s voice.

“His father is a Romanized Gaul… a senator. Family has served Rome faithfully since the foundation of the town. His mother sent him here in the hopes I shall find him a proper Roman wife with a pedigree a mile long.” Aelius Messala laughed a booming happy laugh. Gaius, who stood with hands clasped over his abdomen, smiled shyly and lowered his eyes to the ground.

Finding himself staring at the young man, Marcus immediately forced the line of his sight toward Aelius Messala and away from Gaius. Now wishing to linger in the area more than he had to, Marcus found a valid reason to excuse himself, “May the gods guide you, good Aelius Messala. Now, if you shall both excuse me… I have an appointment with Senator Caius and I do not wish to be late.”

“Of course, Marcus, of course. Be on your way and may Jove guide you.” The two men took each other’s forearm warmly. Marcus avoided the younger man’s gaze as he turned to leave, but he wished him a good day nonetheless and was on his way.

It felt to Marcus as though the villa had moved from its foundation for it appeared to take longer for him to walk past its doors instead of the few minutes it should have taken. Once inside, Marcus sat down on one of the marble benches flanking the impluvium in the center of the atrium. The former Centurion gasped for breath, feeling as if he had received a hard hit to the chest, and his head was swimming and unsteady. Marcus had not felt anything like that since the very first day he had laid eyes on Esca as the Celt walked out onto the sands of the arena. 

Marcus rubbed his face hard to wake himself up in case what had just happened was the product of a dream, but as he lowered his hands and looked about Marcus realized it had not been a dream. Far from it. There was a man, a young man. A young man who had caused Marcus’ heart to stir and Marcus to feel no different than a young boy attracted to someone for the very first time.

The Roman sat a while longer than stood up, took a long sip from a cup of cool wine that had been set out for him, and without saying a word, set out to keep his appointment with Senator Caius Marcellus. The Senator had spoken to Marcus about the possibility of his entering the political arena, and although at first Marcus had not been interested, his interest had now been peeked. 

**********

Uncle Aquila missed Marcus. 

Not only because the older man enjoyed his nephew’s company, or his last living relative, but because Marcus was the best latrones player Uncle Aquila had come across in years. 

The very last latrones partner that had left the very same impression on the older Roman, was a Romanized Briton who had served alongside Uncle Aquila years earlier. His name had been Barbro, and whether he still lived was a mystery to his onetime friend, but Barbro was a master at the game. Uncle Aquila could not even remember if he had ever won a game played against Barbro, and if he had… it could not have been more than a handful. 

Kaeso was good company, and they had fruitful conversations about their duties as magistrates, and the state of affairs in town, but Kaeso was no player of games. Latrones or otherwise. Finally, a desperate Uncle Aquila ended up teaching one of the stable boys, who had a working knowledge of the game, and he became a good enough opponent. But not a day went by the elder Aquila did not wish his nephew still sat across him. 

Uncle Aquila missed Marcus. 

He was lonely. 

Since Marcus’ departure, Uncle Aquila’s days consisted of mornings sitting under the pergola watching swans floating lazily upon the lake waters or birds flying overhead, taking long walks in the villa’s fields, eating his meals, and sleeping. Once a week Uncle Aquila would break the monotony by going into town and visiting friends, but his days were mostly spent alone. 

Of course, there was Stephanos, and there were times where the elder Aquila’s need for conversation found him inviting his body slave to sit across him for a chat. But those were few and far between. For although Stephanos was a valued and trusted slave, Uncle Aquila did not believe in crossing the line between master and friend, as Marcus had with Esca. That was something the Roman had never agreed with his nephew on. Uncle Aquila believed it was through those interactions that lines became blurry and respect was lost between master and slave.

One morning, almost a year to the day Marcus had left for Etruria, Uncle Aquila sat under the pergola listening to the happy song of birds when Stephanos approached and announced an arrival and the elder Aquila almost jumped out of his seat. “Bring him in Stephanos for Juno’s sake, bring him in.”

The older man’s excitement could hardly be contained, although he had not anticipated ever having been that excited at the arrival of… “Esca! Esca, my boy. God's save me. How have you been?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I wish to thank you, dear Reader, for taking time out of your day to spend it on my words. I hope they have not been a waste of that time. I wish to thank all of you who leave me your thoughts in words, and/or a kudos; I am forever grateful. I also wish to apologize to those who have been waiting for an update on this story since the end of February. I am in my last year of nursing studies, and I am my mother's caretaker, and although I would love to spend more time writing... I am not always able to do so.   
> I wish you all a blessed and happy weekend! And thank you again.  
> Eli


	12. Since I Don't Have You

Uncle Aquila stood motionless at first. The older man wore the widest happiest grin Esca had ever seen him wear; except, of course, when the former magistrate had caught sight of his nephew standing before him, after having returned from the North, alive and well.

Both men stood staring at each other momentarily, until Uncle Aquila made a move toward Esca, and embraced his nephew’s former slave tightly. “By the gods, Esca, my boy… you have _no_ idea how very happy to see you I am.” The elder Aquila’s welcome warmed Esca’s heart for he had not expected it. Perhaps from Marcus, but _never_ from his uncle. Uncle Aquila had always kept his distance and dealt with Esca as a master deals with a slave: cold and unamiable. The older man had never showed even the slightest inclination toward the Celt or afforded him any preferential treatment because of Marcus, even if Esca had been responsible for Marcus’ return to life after his having been a prisoner to a deep and dark depression following his injury.

In fact, it had been Uncle Aquila who had mocked Marcus for thinking he could trust Esca enough to take him along on his mission to rescue the Eagle, regardless of whatever oath the Brigantes slave had sworn.

“Where have you been for all this time, my boy?” Now, it seemed Uncle Aquila had no trouble referring to Esca as he did Marcus, because he had finally come to see the Celt as an extension of his nephew. His loneliness had forced a tolerance for the one-time slave Uncle Aquila had never had before. Esca’s presence brought the older man great joy, as if he saw Marcus in Esca.

“Stephanos… bring some food and wine for Esca.” Uncle Aquila ordered the smiling Greek slave who seemed glad to see Esca, as well; either because of Esca himself, or because Esca’s presence uplifted his master’s soul. Uncle Aquila motioned for Esca to sit.

“Now… tell me, my boy, for it has been a very long time, indeed. Tell me where you have been and what you have been doing.”

Esca took a long drink from the cup of cool sweet wine Stephanos had placed before him. The Greek slave had also brought Esca a plate of cheese, another with slices of roasted boar, a bowl of olives swimming in olive oil, and warm bread.

“I went to Eburacum where I found my uncle. He is a black smith there. He has taken me under his wing and I have since learned the trade.”

Uncle Aquila nodded with a wide grin, “ _Good_ for you, Esca. _Good for you._ And… tell me… have you a wife of yet?”

Esca had to hurriedly swallow the seasoned slice of roasted boar before answering Uncle Aquila’s question. “No, Master Aquila, not yet. I was to have been betrothed to a girl but… “

“But what, my boy?” Uncle Aquila interrupted. “Why do you young men of today wish to remain bachelors?”

Esca laughed but shook his head, “I am yet unready to marry, Master Aquila. First, I wish to establish myself and then I will think on marriage, but not before.”

“Ha,” Uncle Aquila commented with a chuckle as was his way, “You sound like Marcus; sometimes I think that boy shall never marry.”

_Marcus._ So, Marcus had not married the Roman maiden. Esca smiled. The news filled Esca’s heart with unanticipated joy, for he had thought he would have found Marcus with a wife and a whelp on the way.

But… perhaps he was betrothed.

Uncle Aquila shook his head, “Absolutely not. And most certainly not to the daughter of Senator Marcus Claudius Glaber.”

Esca did not understand the elder Aquila’s adamancy until he was informed of the young woman’s betrothal shortly after Esca’s departure and her recent marriage.

Then, if Marcus was not married, he must still live in the villa with his uncle, Esca thought. The Celt’s ears now strained to hear the voice of the man he loved calling out to him; excited and overjoyed to see his friend again. Esca’s eyes had searched the grounds for any sign of Marcus from the moment of his arrival, but… nothing. And Esca was certain Stephanos would most certainly have alerted Marcus to Esca’s presence immediately after his arrival.

“Where is Marcus, Master Aquila? Is he here or in town?”

Uncle Aquila shook his head, “Neither, my boy. Marcus is no longer in Britain…” The elder Aquila answered, but Esca heard nothing past Marcus no longer being in Britain. When he could once again focus on Uncle Aquila’s words he heard the older man mention Etruria. “…I pray nightly the gods shall help him find one of the young ladies worthy enough to propose marriage to.” And then Uncle Aquila laughed.

Esca felt as though the ground under his feet had suddenly moved leaving him unsteady, “When did he leave?” Was all Esca could bring himself to ask; not that it mattered. Marcus had left Britain. Marcus was in Etruria and it did not matter if he had been there for a day, a month, or a year. He was gone.

“A year now… he left two months following your departure.” Uncle Aquila spoke calmly for he had no idea of the storm raging within Esca. “He purchased land, a farm in Etruria and returned to the land of his youth.”

Esca nodded for Marcus had shared the story with him as they journeyed back South. About the farm he had lived on, his father’s farm, until his mother’s death. Marcus had been taken in by his mother’s sister, and her husband, who had taken over the property as though it were his own. Marcus had told Esca of how he had dreamed of buying back his father’s farm, growing wheat and onions. But Esca had also understood the dream to be an impossible one for the land had been long sold off and its selling had put and end to Marcus’ wishful thought. But it seemed the gods had granted Marcus his most treasured wish…

“As the gods would have it,” Uncle Aquila continued, “upon arriving in Etruria, Marcus found the lands of his father for sale. The man who purchased the lands from Messala, Marcus’ uncle, was named procurator of Antioch, and as such was forced to sell both the land and the house.” Uncle Aquila took a bite from one of Sasstica’s heavenly honeyed cakes and a sip of wine before continuing, “A joyous Marcus offered a price and purchased the property within days of his arrival in Etruria.”

Esca could feel all hope draining from his heart; he had hoped for so much. Esca had spent days envisioning his reunion with Marcus, what he would say, what he would do. How he would confess his love for Marcus to Marcus, how he would, with patience, tenderly, claim his Roman’s body for his own. The taste of his kisses, the soft sounds of his pleasure. Esca had imagined it all… and now… he had not a prayer to cling to.

Esca clung to one final hope: Marcus’ eventual return to Britain and so he decided to ask Uncle Aquila one final question. “Will Marcus be returning to Calleva?” Esca had asked even though he already knew the answer. He did not need to hear it from Uncle Aquila. Marcus would never leave his father’s land to return to Calleva, nor anywhere else in Britain. He was where he had wished to be for most of his life.

No. Marcus would not be leaving Etruria any time soon. If ever again. Of that Esca was certain and it was that certainty that stabbed his heart as only the loss of a very great love could.

 

**********

 

“Marcus. _Marcus?”_ Young Gaius called out as he entered the villa looking for his friend, for Marcus and Gaius had become friends. The two had become friends the previous summer, and even after Gaius had returned to Lugdunum, they had often written letters to each other building a deep friendship. It was Gaius’ presence that had helped Marcus put Calleva behind him.

It was not that Marcus had forgotten Esca, for he had not, and when he wondered, Marcus would realize forgetting Esca was something he could never bring himself to do. But Gaius was a much-needed distraction and a distraction Marcus welcomed.

Marcus had been gone from Britain for all of a year and in that time he had heard not a word about Esca. Not that Marcus expected to hear from Esca himself, but… perhaps word of him via Uncle Aquila. But not even that.

Uncle Aquila wrote diligently. His letters always included his most recent research on the history of Roman warfare, of which he was writing, or about the newest recipe Sasstica had developed. The elder Aquila would write about the farm, or the goings on at the neighbors, the weather, and sometimes a piece of gossip he had come across while at market, but never a word about Esca.

Perhaps the painful truth in that was that if Uncle Aquila never mentioned Esca, Esca was no where to be found. Perhaps Esca had not shown himself in Calleva since his departure because he did not care to. Esca had forgotten Marcus.

Marcus had an idea of where Esca had gone since while on their journey South, after having crossed the Wall, Esca had mentioned an uncle who worked as a blacksmith. The problem was… Marcus did not remember if Esca had mentioned where this uncle lived. Perhaps he had left out the location purposely, so that when he left, Marcus would not be able to find him.

That was a most hurtful realization for Marcus. Esca had left without knowing the secret that lay within Marcus’ heart; that Marcus loved him beyond all things even if nothing could come of it. But… strangely enough… Marcus felt it had been for the best for Marcus would not have wished to break Esca’s heart upon finding his other half.

“Marcus… you were missed this evening. The banquet was quite a boring affair without you.”

“My leg is to blame, my friend. It has been paining me all this day.” Marcus purposely omitted the fact that he had twisted his ankle on a rock that morning as he strolled in the vineyard inspecting the grapes.

“Have you summoned the medicus?”

“I am not in need of a medicus, my friend… I am in need of a good massage.” Marcus patted Gaius on the back as he limped past the standing figure. “I shall ask Tiberius as soon as he comes in from settling the horses in for the night.”

“I can help you, Marcus… if you wish.” Gaius smiled shyly, but he meant his offer. Gaius had watched a household slave rub the aches and pains from his father’s back more than enough times.

“I would not ask such a thing of you, Gaius.” Said Marcus as he waved away the offer. “Besides I am not in such pain that I cannot wait for Tiberius.”

And then... suddenly, and without warning, Marcus was back in his room. In his uncle’s villa. In Calleva. Esca hovering over Marcus, massaging the sore muscles of Marcus’ injured leg. The scent of Esca as he drew near, the sound of Esca’s soft breath, the sound of Esca’s voice as he spoke.

“Marcus?” The sound of Gaius’ voice drew Marcus back to the present; the veil of yesterday fell once again over Marcus’ memories, and just like that… Esca was gone. “It is no burden at all, Marcus. I have rubbed my father many times when his favorite slave is not there to do it.”

Marcus smiled noting the young man’s blushing cheeks as he spoke. There was something very endearing about Gaius; his character was not complicated, nor did he carry the heavy burden of loss as both he and Esca had.

Gaius was an only son, and as such, his father had pulled many strings to keep him from having to join the legions. And Marcus thought the man had made a wise choice. Gaius seemed far too soft for the legions. One needed to be made of sturdier stuff and it was obvious to Marcus that Gaius lacked what it took to make a military career his life’s pursuit. His father wished his son to enter the political arena where he might one day sit in the Senate House and be a voice for his father’s people.

Marcus almost agreed to Gaius' offer, but he shook his head instead, “It is not necessary Gaius. I shall wait for Tiberius.”

“Very well then, Marcus, I will leave you now. I am tired from the day’s activities and am looking forward to a good night’s rest.” Marcus walked Gaius to the garden, for it was a quicker walk from Marcus’ villa to Gaius’ uncle’s villa from there than were the young man to use the front doors.

“Would you like to join me for breakfa….,” and suddenly Marcus’ leg gave way.

He would have fallen to the floor had Gaius not caught him by the waist and pulled him back up. “Let me help you to your bed.” And refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer, Gaius wrapped a strong arm around Marcus’ waist and helped him to his bedchamber. “You can be very stubborn, my friend. Now, I shall not leave until I have left you soundly asleep.”

A grateful Marcus anchored his weight against Gaius marveling at the strength in the wiry young man who seemed to carry the bigger man’s bulk without difficulty. As Esca once had.

As they entered the room, Gaius helped Marcus sit on his bed, and he knelt before him to untie and remove Marcus’ caligae. Marcus looked down at the fair head lowered as the young man concentrated on what he was doing. Again Marcus was taken back to the past…

He was sitting on a rock, the air around them lit by the fierce barking of the Seal warrior’s dogs, looking down at Esca as he wrapped a piece of cloth around the reopened wound on Marcus’ thigh. Esca’s head was lowered, like that of Gaius, and Marcus remembered watching him intently. How beautiful he was.

Marcus had asked him about what the Seal Chieftain had said back in the cave, but Esca had said there was no time to explain. Marcus had wished they were anywhere else but there. He had wished he would have apologized to Esca for having involved him in something he had no need to have been involved in. He had wished so many things in those brief moments.

“Marcus? _Marcus?”_ Once again, Gaius’ voice snatched Marcus away from a past that always took him back unawares. “Are you well?”

Marcus focused his sight on the beautiful grey eyes that looked up at him questioning, and then… as though his hands moved on their own, Marcus cupped Gaius’ face. Marcus was tired of living in the past. The past was long gone and it would not return. Esca was gone. No doubt he had forgotten Marcus. Perhaps he was married awaiting a family. Perhaps he had forced himself to forget everything that had come before them, and here Marcus sat living in a past that no longer belonged to him.

Marcus gazed at the present and lost himself in Gaius' eyes. He leaned down just as Gaius moved up to meet him, and without allowing himself a second thought, Marcus sighed and they kissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for taking the time to read this chapter/story. I appreciate it more than I can say. I hope you have enjoyed it and find it worth the wait. I wish I was able to update as quickly as I would love to do, and for that I do apologize wholeheartedly. I also wish to thank, from the bottom of my heart, those of you who share your comments with me, and those who bless me with your words and a kudos. I cannot thank you enough for either one of those. 
> 
> I wish you a blessed day!
> 
> Eli


	13. A New Beginning

The following morning Marcus sat on his bed with his head in his hands desperately regretting what he had done. What by the gods had possessed him to kiss Gaius as he had? But… deep within his heart, Marcus knew exactly what had driven him to do what he had done: Gaius reminded Marcus of Esca. He always had but Marcus had been able to fight the temptation until the previous night.

Marcus could only be grateful Gaius had backed away just as the kiss became heated; and there was no need to wonder why. Marcus had whispered Esca’s name and Gaius had been ripped from the moment. For although, the youth held romantic feelings for Marcus, he was not going to allow himself to be used, no matter how innocently, in replacement of another. 

“Marcus… I am not Esca,” a humiliated Marcus remembered Gaius saying softly as he slowly moved away from the still seated figure of the former centurion. Marcus could also remember the heated flush of his face as it burned red, so great was his humiliation. 

How could he have crossed the line in that manner with the nephew of his respected neighbor? 

Oh, and it was not as though Gaius had not tried to soothe Marcus’ humiliation by assuring him that he was not offended, that nothing so serious had happened that it could not be put from memory. But Marcus could as easily forgive himself for overstepping his limits, as he could have forgiven himself for poisoning Gaius’ cup had that been the matter.  
Marcus had disregarded the sacred code of hospitality with which he was bound if only because Gaius was a guest in his home. There was no way Marcus could undo the wrong that had been done. 

Yet, Gaius, on the other hand, was not trying to soothe Marcus’ conscious by telling him that he had caused no offense, for indeed he had not. If anything, Gaius had relished the kiss from Marcus’ lips despite its brevity. He could have wished for nothing more. Indeed, it had felt, to Gaius, as though his fondest wish had been made reality when Marcus pressed his full lips against his. 

Gaius had fallen for Marcus from the very moment his uncle had introduced them in the vineyard. He had dreamed with Marcus, had pleasured himself to the thought of Marcus, and thought of little else than of Marcus. 

Gaius understood Marcus had not only come to Etruria to settle in the land of his birth, but to find his “other half,” and that forced him to keep his feelings in the shadows. But… there had been moments where Marcus’ eyes had lingered upon Gaius. Moments where he had licked his lips while watching Gaius’ mouth move. Moments where Marcus had looked into his eyes with a softness… 

It was those moments that had given Gaius the power to dream. To hope.

Of course, the dream had been shattered, and all hope had been lost when Gaius heard Marcus softly whisper Esca; the name of his friend. The friend who had once been his slave. The friend who had helped Marcus rescue the Eagle from the Northern barbarians. The friend who obviously meant more to Marcus than a mere friend should. What did not seem to make sense to Gaius was: why was Marcus looking for a woman when he was obviously in love with a man? Other half or not, there was no way for anyone, including Marcus, to be truly happy with anyone other than their heart’s desire. But… it was not as though things would be all that different for him. 

After all, Gaius would have to marry a woman, although his taste had always been toward men. That was the way of things. That was what was expected of him, as well as what was expected of Marcus, and there was nothing to be done about it. 

The following morning, before the sun rose beyond the Etrurian horizon, Gaius had decided to return to Lugdunum where distance would spare him from pain and would allow him to set himself upon the path expected of him, without any further distractions. He would inform his uncle, Aelius Messala, that morning at breakfast, and begin preparations for his return home.

Although Marcus had felt guilt at Gaius’ sudden planned departure, he also felt a deep relief. Not because the young man’s proximity served to confuse Marcus, but because his absence would take with it Marcus’ humiliation and his momentary weakness would cease to haunt him with every sighting of Gaius. But Gaius did not leave for Lugdunum without paying Marcus an unexpected visit.

“I did not wish to leave without seeing you one last time, Marcus, for I believe there is unfinished business between us that I would put to rest.”

Marcus nodded while looking down at the floor between the two of them for he dared not look up and into Gaius’ eyes. Gaius’ presence had brought with it that humiliation Marcus wished gone.

“Nothing happened between us that cannot be forgotten, Marcus.”

“I disrespected you in my home. I had no right to do what I did, and I am afraid the gods shall call me to account.”

Gaius laughed but not a mocking laugh at what Marcus had said. “The gods would hold you to account if I felt offended or betrayed by what happened, but… as I do not… then they have no reason to hold you to account on my behalf.”

Marcus smiled for he appreciated Gaius’ words although they did little to soothe his heavy conscious.

“Marcus… my advice to you is to do what I intend to do when I return to Lugdunum; find a good woman to marry and begin your life. But… do not waste another day searching for that woman the old woman promised you. That woman may not exist Marcus. The old woman might have been wrong, or if she were right, this woman may have already crossed your path never to cross it again. Whatever the case, my friend… you would be a fool to lose years searching for an impossible dream.”

Marcus nodded but not because he agreed with Gaius. “I understand, and I am grateful for your words, young Gaius, but… I cannot believe the old woman would have spoken the truth about everything else but have been in the wrong about this.” 

Gaius offered his arm to Marcus in the Roman handshake and smiled, “Then I wish you good fortune, friend Marcus. I shall ask and sacrifice to holy Venus that she may soon guide you to your lover’s arms and that you find the happiness you crave and deserve within those arms.”

“As I wish the same for you, young Gaius.”

The next week was lonely and uneventful for Marcus, even in the company of Aelius Messala. Marcus attributed his loneliness to the fact that since having joined the legions, he had always been surrounded by men his age, although some had been a few years older. Gaius’ departure had found Marcus, once again, in a situation reminiscent of when he had first arrived at his uncle’s villa a lifetime ago abd as the days became longer and lonelier, Marcus began to see the truth in Gaius’ words. 

Perhaps, the ‘other half’ the old woman had spoken of had crossed Marcus’ path when he yet did not know about her. Perhaps he had walked past her on a street in Judea or had been served a cup of wine by her in a tavern. The reality was that searching for this ‘other half,’ the old woman had prophesied for him was like searching for one particular ant in one particular ant hill. Impossible! 

Then Marcus remembered good Kaeso’s niece: Cottia; the Iceni girl with the carrot color hair and emerald green eyes. Marcus had grown to care for Cottia while convalescing at his uncle’s villa in Calleva, where they were neighbors. Cottia had visited him daily and entertained him with tales of her people and about how unhappy she was having to become someone she was not to appease her aunt. 

Marcus had felt true empathy for the girl, and he had grown to know her heart, and it was a good heart. Marcus sighed deeply and nodded to no one other than himself as he acknowledged his conclusion.

“That is what I shall do! I shall return to Calleva and ask Kaeso for Cottia’s hand.” 

Marcus sat at his desk and began writing a letter to his uncle alerting him of his return to Calleva and of his plan to marry Cottia, for he had no doubt she would accept his offer. Marcus also decided to meet with Aelius Messala the following morning to ask his advice as to what to do with the farm while he was in Calleva.

And before weeks end, Marcus had set off back to Calleva and his uncle’s villa with two vehement prayers: that Cottia agree to marry him and that he not see Esca during his stay. For Marcus had little doubt he could live with the former were Cottia to not agree to Marcus’ proposal of marriage, but the latter….

The latter was another story altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly wish to apologize to those of you who have been waiting for the update to this story since April. And I hope you will find this update worth the wait. I wish to thank those of you who take time to read this story. Your time is a valuable gift I cherish. I also wish to thank those of you who share your thoughts with me via your comments, and/or leave kudos to show you have enjoyed the read. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!


	14. Return to Calleva

Back in Eburacum, Esca had become a master at his trade. He had his own clientele and he was no longer a stranger to the town’s folk. People respected him: Britons and Romans alike because of his expert craftsmanship. In Eburacum no one knew who Esca was aside from being Cunoval’s son and Brann the Smith’s nephew. No one knew him as one of the heroes who rescued the Eagle from the Seal People; not even Uncle Brann and that was how Esca wished it to stay. It was not as though his people would have seen him as anything other than a traitor had they known and that was a complication Esca wished to avoid.

Once again Esca’s uncle, Brann, had begun to bring up the topic of marriage, especially now that Esca was no longer his apprentice. Perhaps because as a master Smith with his own clients, Uncle Brann saw Esca as one prepared to assume the responsibilities of a wife and family. The thought, though, could not have been farther from the young Brigantes’ mind. Esca had done much soul searching on his way back to Eburacum from visiting Uncle Aquila in Calleva. He had decided against marrying anyone, much less Morgane whom he felt nothing for. Esca was in love with Marcus, he had been in love with Marcus since the very beginning, but there was nothing to be done about it. 

Marcus was long gone; he had returned to his native Etruria and Esca doubted Marcus would ever set foot on Britain soil again. And had Marcus still been in Calleva, at his uncle’s villa, things would be no different still for Marcus did not feel for Esca what Esca felt for him. Marcus had gone to Etruria, not only to buy back his father’s land and home, but perhaps to find that “other half” he was so anxious to find. The one the old woman had promised him. Esca did not find the prospect of growing old alone an attractive one, but to live out his life in the company of someone he did not love, for the sake of companionship, was even less attractive. Not to mention unfair. 

As Esca sat in front of his uncle’s shop he contemplated his future. In the months he had worked with his uncle, his uncle had been very generous to him, and Esca had managed to save enough money to build a small home of his own. He had decided against putting up shop in the same town as his uncle for he did not wish to become his competition, so his uncle came up with a solution: Uncle Brann would open a shop on the other side of town and Esca would run it for him; they would be partners. The solution was mutually beneficial and Esca accepted wholeheartedly.

Uncle Brann was less then pleased that Esca would not even consider the possibility of a union with Morgane, but he would not push the subject. After all, there were many other suitable candidates for his adopted daughter’s hand, it did not need to be Esca although Brann would have preferred his nephew above all others. As far as Morgane was concerned, she would very much have liked Esca for a husband, but she was not blind to the lack of interest on his part and an uninterested husband was not what she cared to have. It seemed Esca was interested in only one person: his Roman friend, Marcus, and Morgane was no fool to think she could ever become his competition. Morgane had come to know about Esca’s feelings for the Roman one lovely evening as they sat on the grass outside Uncle Brann’s home watching the sun set. Esca had just returned from Calleva and had learned of Marcus’ return to Etruria. The sadness he felt permeated every part of him; it was written all over his face and even his speech and actions were shadowed with melancholy.

“Esca have you not considered following your Roman to his home?” Morgane had innocently asked.

“First of all, Morgane, Marcus is not my Roman!” Esca had barked back sounding almost insulted, but then had continued more calmly. “Secondly, there is no need for that… I might only help to serve as a distraction.”

“Why would you be a distraction? I would think he would consider your company a great comfort. Are you not his friend?”

Esca shook his head adamantly. “No! there is no need.”

Morgane did not continue with the conversation noting that it was not a very welcome one, instead she sat quietly beside Esca and inwardly hoped for things she was not certain she would ever come to have. But… the fact Esca was so adamant about not joining his Roman friend gave her hope, and even if it was the smallest of hopes, it was a hope nonetheless. 

@@@@@@@@@@

Marcus had been in Calleva three months and had not seen nor heard anything about or from Esca. Uncle Aquila deduced that his one-time slave had perhaps returned to his own kind and would not be seen anywhere near Calleva again, especially after learning Esca had begun a life in Eburacum. Uncle Aquila had told Marcus of Esca’s visit and how content and set upon his path he had seemed. He even told Marcus about a girl Esca’s uncle had in mind for him, “Esca did not seem very excited about the prospect, but if his uncle is half as stubborn as Esca is, then… I wager by now he has had his way.” Uncle Aquila had added through chuckles, and Marcus had felt as though his world had stood still.  
There were times Marcus found himself wondering why he had returned to Calleva, at all. Why he had not stayed in Etruria far from the heartache and heartbreak that awaited him in Britain. Perhaps he should not have paid attention to Gaius’ advice: “Find a good woman to marry and begin your life.” He had also advised Marcus not to “waste another day searching” for his other half and Marcus had taken Gaius’ advice to heart for he had long put that thought far behind him. It was not as though he had thrown away a dream; Marcus finding his other half did not seem as though it would ever happen. Besides… Marcus no longer cared about his other half, his soul mate. Marcus cared only for Esca. He was deeply in love with the man and did not care to supplant him with another to fill the void.

Marcus wished to see Esca again. He wanted to hear his voice once more, to look into his eyes once again. Even if only briefly, even if from afar; even if only once and never again, Marcus wanted nothing more than to see Esca once more. But that did not seem like a possibility, and as the days and months passed, and there was no sign of him, Marcus came to understand the probability of their paths ever crossing again was remote. 

“I would not like for you to leave Calleva Marcus for your company is much desired and sorely missed when you are gone, but I also do not wish to see you wasting your life away here for my sake.”

Marcus smiled and shook his head in a mute attempt to convey his uncle’s misconception. “Uncle, if I am still here it is because I wish to be. Believe me, I would not stay otherwise, especially since I know you would never impede my happiness in a selfish attempt for company.”

Uncle Aquila nodded and smiled warmly. It was very important to him that Marcus understood that, and it seemed that he did.

“I have spoken to a few horse merchants in town and I intend to fulfill the dream Esca and I spoke about as we traveled back south… a horse farm. He had originally suggested Spain, but I have no interest to travel to a place where I know no one, nor do I have any affinity for the place.”

“Nor did Esca I am certain.” Uncle Aquila laughed. “Why then would he think of Spain for a horse farm?”

“While a slave, the first master he served was a horse merchant who imported the beasts from Spain. Esca tended them.”

“Ah… I see.”

“One of the men I spoke with said Arabs are far superior to the horses from Spain. His prices are fair enough and I like his business sense. He also comes highly recommended from Caius Marcellus who’s word I trust.”

Uncle Aquila agreed with his nephew and was inwardly grateful Marcus had decided to stay in Briton; secretly he hoped Marcus would decided to remain relatively close, but Uncle Aquila would not need to wonder for very long since it seemed the gods wished to put his mind to rest there and then.

“I have also come upon some good acreage,” Marcus lifted his arm and motioned toward the north side of his uncle’s land. “that adjoins the northern boundary of your land, Uncle. It is suitable for a horse farm and fertile for the planting of crops… for our own use, of course, not for sale.”

Uncle Aquila felt as though he had received a gift from the gods: his nephew’s presence. No longer would he have to worry about ending his days in the company of slaves with no kin in sight. It was a worry that had lain upon the older man’s shoulders for many years and now he could finally dismiss it from his thoughts.  
“I am glad to hear that Marcus. I truly am, my boy.”

Marcus was no fool. He knew, that although his uncle would never stand in the way of his happiness, Uncle Aquila was more than pleased to know his nephew would be no more than a short walk away. And although a part of Marcus was glad to remain close to his uncle, there was a greater part of him that was also glad to remain where Esca may still find him. One day. Perhaps. And if not… then it was not the will of the gods they should ever cross paths again. Marcus could blame only them; not that Marcus would ever dare such a thing. The gods know better, that is why they are gods; Mortals do not and that is why they depend on the gods.

“Now, my boy… what about Cottia?”

@@@@@@@@@@

“Marcus Flavius Aquila as I live and breathe!” Lutorius Drusillus Salinator cried out as he caught sight of Marcus leaving Calleva’s forum.  
Hearing his name called out Marcus looked up and locked eyes with his one-time second-in-command. “Lutorius! Lutorius, my friend.” The two men exchanged the Roman handshake. “What are you doing in Calleva?”

Lutorius smiled widely, “I came to see you, my friend. I was told where to find you by Clodius Maximus. Remember him?”

“How could I forget?” Marcus laughed and Lutorius joined him. Clodius Maximus was the centurion who had come to the defense of the fort at Isca Dumnoniorum after the attack that left Marcus injured and incapacitated. Marcus had no cared for the man’s attitude at first, and it had seemed the feeling was mutual, until Lutorius informed Marcus it was Clodius Maximus who had been responsible for Marcus receiving his armilla and the Fourth Co-Hort their laurel.

“I thought you were gone to Etruria?”

“I was but have since returned and I intend to stay in Britain.”

Lutorius chuckled, “It seems this land has got a hold on you, eh, Commander?”

Marcus grinned, “I have grown accustomed to it, but… the greater reason being my uncle who lives here. He is my only family, and even if Etruria is the place of my birth, I am without kin of any kind there.”

Lutorius nodded for he too had no one in the world except for an elderly uncle and aunt he prayed would live long enough to share some of his retirement with him when the time came.

Since the sun was high in the sky and Marcus had not eaten anything more than the morning meal, he invited Lutorius to join him in partaking of the noon day meal. The two men walked over to the better of Calleva’s three inns and ordered as sumptuous a meal as the place could offer: stewed beef with spring vegetables, slices of roasted boar, freshly baked bread, olives in oil and cheese.

The conversation moved from one topic to another until it seemed there was nothing else to talk about aside from their plans for the future. Marcus’ plans were more immediate and Lutorius was quite impressed with the horse farm his former commander was about to set up. Lutorius’ plans were in the distant future since he had five more years before he would be able to leave his life with the Eagle’s behind him and return to Sicilia and his aunt and uncle.

It was late afternoon, early evening, when Marcus and Lutorius left the inn and made their way to the stables where Marcus’ horse, Vipsania, patiently awaited her master’s return, as did Lutorius’ mare. The men made their way to Uncle Aquila’s villa since Lutorius had gratefully accepted Marcus’ invitation: “You only came to Calleva because of me, Lutorius… therefore… I insist.”

As Marcus and Lutorius entered the villa the sound of Uncle Aquila’s voice could be heard. Lutorius stopped where he stood, “Marcus are you certain I am not intruding?”

“Absolutely not! My uncle would have been furious had he known you are in Calleva and I did not invite you to stay with us.”

“Very well.”

“Uncle.” Marcus called as he turned to enter the small room off the atrium where Uncle Aquila loved to sit with his guests sipping wine, enjoying slices of cheese and bread, and reminiscing of days gone by.

“Marcus, my boy!”

Marcus froze in mid step.

“Marcus.” Esca stood up from his chair across from Uncle Aquila.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear ones, for those of you who have been patiently waiting for this update, I thank you sincerely and apologize for its delay. Please note that this is the next to the last chapter. I will try my hardest to post that one as soon as possible. Thank you again and always, dear ones!!!
> 
> Eli


	15. Happily Ever After Was Never Meant For Me

"It's good to see you Marcus." 

At first Marcus stood paralyzed not speaking nor moving from where he stood. It was not that Marcus was not happy to see Esca; actually… Marcus did not know how he felt about seeing Esca again. There was a part of him that felt a deep heaviness descend upon his soul on seeing his friend and this confused Marcus. Had he not prayed to every god he thought might feel compassion toward his plight for this exact moment? But now that the moment was here, and Esca stood before him, even more handsome than he remembered him, grinning wide, eyes smiling… Marcus did not know what to feel.

"It is good to see you as well Esca." Marcus finally answered. 

Noting Marcus did not seem ready to move from where he stood Esca took the few steps toward him and shook his hand warmly and with great strength. Esca wanted Marcus to know how very much it meant to see him again. But Marcus’ reaction confused Esca as much as Esca’s presence confused Marcus. Esca had longed for the moment he once again stood before Marcus and now that Marcus was within reach, Esca did not know what to think. He did not wish to admit it to himself, for it was far too painful, but Marcus did not seem pleased to see him in the least. 

"Esca here has come from Eburacum at his uncle's behest for two of your horses Marcus." Uncle Aquila noting his nephew’s unexpected cold reaction to Esca broke the silence.  
Marcus, who had not even blinked since laying eyes on his friend, nodded. Once again, the elder Aquila took charge of the moment, cleared his throat and nudged his nephew’s arm, "Should you not introduce Esca to good Lurorius, nephew?" 

Marcus snapped out of the involuntary paralysis that had befallen him at the sight of Esca and apologized, "Lutorius Esca MacCunoval." 

Lurorius extended his forearm to Esca for a Roman handshake which Esca accepted, "This is indeed an honor."

Esca smiled but not overly so. He knew who Lutorius was and his connection to Marcus via the latter's short command of the fort at Isca Dumnoniorum. Marcus had told him of the fort, the men he commanded, and about his ill-fated friendship with the horse merchant Cradoc, during the journey back south. More than that Esca had never met Lutorius and could not have cared less if the opportunity had never arose. For good or bad, Lutorius was a Roman, and no matter the honors paid him by the Senate, or the citizenship granted him by the emperor, Esca still hated Romans and what they stood for. That had not changed and most likely never would; Marcus and Uncle Aquila being the only exceptions.

"Have you boys had your evening meal of yet?" Uncle Aquila looked from Marcus to Lutorius and back. "Cena is about to be served."

"We have not, Uncle." Marcus answered more for Lutorius' sake than his own for any trace of hunger he may have had disappeared the moment he heard Esca's voice. But Marcus was certain his former second-in-command was famished. It had been some hours since the noonday meal, despite its leisurely consummation, the ride from Calleva to the villa had been long and tiring. 

"Very well then.”

Stephanos approached the door and bowed his head in a silent signal to his master that the evening meal was awaiting them in the triclinium. Uncle Aquila invited Marcus, Lutorius, and Esca to follow him to where cena awaited them. “You will forgive the simplicity of the meal, boiled eggs and fish, but I was not expecting guests. Had I known the both of you would be gracing our home this evening I would have had a banquet prepared in your honor.”

“The meal before us is just as sumptuous as any banquet Master Aquila.” Esca countered with a grateful smile and Lutorius agreed.

Throughout the meal Marcus made it a point to keep his eyes on any point in the room other than Esca for he was still conflicted over his friend’s unexpected presence. Besides… it was not as though Esca had traveled to Calleva for Marcus. According to Uncle Aquila Esca’s uncle had sent him to buy a couple of horses from the Aquila Stables, and that was perhaps the only reason Esca had come. Perhaps Esca was even anxious to do his uncle’s bidding and get back to the girl his uncle was arranging for him to marry. Perhaps he had already married her and fathered a whelp or two and could not wait to return to them.

Marcus ate the meal in relative silence answering questions only if they were directed to him. Thankfully Uncle Aquila made certain to engage his guests in conversation on all subjects he thought entertaining hoping to make the meal less uncomfortable and awkward. And then Marcus finally opened his mouth to speak to Esca: “How exactly did your uncle come to hear of the Aquila Stables Esca?” 

Esca finished swallowing a tasty mouthful of fried fish smothered in garlic before answering Marcus. “A few of my uncle’s clients are also clients of yours, Marcus, or know clients of yours, and recommended not only the beasts, but the prices to my uncle. You are known to be a very fair merchant, indeed.” Esca offered Marcus a wide toothy grin, perhaps believing Marcus would offer one of his own in return. 

He did not.

“And the fact that you and I are friends is of no never mind to your uncle?” Marcus blurted out before thinking it over, but his thoughts were less than rational at the moment. He kept picturing Esca, his presumed wife and children, and Marcus could barely contain his anger.

Esca raised his eyes from the boiled egg he was about to salt and dip into the small bowl of olive oil next to his plate. “What is your meaning Marcus?”

“I am certain aside from the fair prices your uncle is pursuing, he may also think I will practically give the horses away due to our friendship.” Marcus had gone too far, and he knew it, but what had been said could not be unsaid.

It was Esca’s turn to freeze at Marcus’ words for not only were they humiliating, but disrespectful not only toward his uncle, but to him, as well. Lutorius’ hand stopped midway from his mouth to the plate and Uncle Aquila’s eyes widened at Marcus’ callousness toward a man he had thought Marcus held great affection toward, or at least a great amount of gratitude for his aid in the rescue of the Eagle and Marcus’ safe return home.

“Marcus!” 

Esca scowled at Marcus’ unexpected words and locked burning eyes with the Roman, “I did not come here for favors, from you nor from anyone else, Marcus!” The fiery red color of Esca’s face betrayed the wiry Brigantes’ fury. “I have good money to pay whatever price you ask, Marcus, and I am not expecting, nor would I now accept, even a bargain from you were you to offer.”

Marcus could feel deep in the pit of his stomach that he had deeply offended Esca, but there was a part of him that was glad; even if it pained him to admit it. Still, his reaction had caught him off guard. What on Gaia’s green earth had possessed Marcus to lash out at Esca in such an ugly way, but the answer did not need such deep consideration: Marcus had been struck by one of the god Phthonous’ arrows tinged with envy and jealousy and this was the result. Marcus had to begrudgingly admit he was jealous of the woman who might be sharing Esca’s bed, and angry at Esca for having allowed himself a woman to share that bed with.

Lutorius felt awkward and out of place, as though he were witnessing something intimate. Private. Marcus’ former second-in-command found himself wishing he had stayed behind at the inn and not allowed his one-time commander to talk him into following him back to the Aquila villa as his guest.

Uncle Aquila sat speechless for a few minutes longer wondering what he could say to smooth the matter. He did not wish to go against his own flesh and blood, but he also did not wish to offend the gods by allowing Marcus to continue disrespecting Esca under his own roof. But… what could he say?

Lutorius tried to normalize things by conversing with Marcus about how the fortifications Marcus had initiated at Isca Dumnoniorum had been implemented at other forts, and with great success. Marcus asked after Galba and some of the other legionnaires he had commanded while at the fort. Esca, on the other hand, sat quiet eating a few morsels more and then settled on just drinking the cool wine and nibbling on a piece of honeyed cake Uncle Aquila had pushed his way. It was obvious to all, Esca was furious beyond the telling and had not taken his leave only for the sake of the elder Aquila. But he did not linger past the serving of sweets before excusing himself saying he was expected at the inn before the ninth hour.

Marcus’ eyes shot up from the plate of honeyed melon he had just served himself. Esca was “expected” at the inn. Marcus could feel his stomach churning and his blood begin to boil forcing him to push the plate brusquely away and glare at his one-time friend. Marcus’ reaction did not escape Uncle Aquila’s sight, and if Lutorius noted it he pretended not to choosing instead to keep his gaze on the plate of sweets set before him.

“But what about the horses your uncle sent you to buy, my boy?”

“I shall pass this way tomorrow before heading back to Eburacum.” He answered Uncle Aquila and then turned to Marcus to add the following, eyes burning, “Or I shall send someone in my stead.” He bowed his head respectfully at the elder Aquila and turned to leave.

“Then you should choose which ones you wish to purchase now instead of letting someone do it for you tomorrow.” Marcus blurted out. “I, for one, would not presume lest I sell you an animal that is not to your liking and give you reason for complaint.” Marcus sarcastically retorted hoping he had hit his mark for his anger at the thought Esca was rushing back to the inn because his woman awaited him was more than Marcus could take.

“The person I send has my full confidence. My cousin is as well acquainted with our taste as my uncle or I. We shall be well satisfied with any animal of his choosing. Now, if you shall excuse me, I bid you good night.” A smug Esca turned and walked toward the atrium and out the villa’s double doors into the night.

Uncle Aquila tried to keep his opinion of Marcus’ rude and uncalled for behavior for another time; I time that did not find a guest still sitting at his table, but the older man was fuming at his nephew’s treatment of Esca. Thankfully, a tired Lutorius claimed to be exhausted from the day’s travel and retired to his bedchamber not long after Esca’s departure. Uncle Aquila was no fool. He knew the man could feel the tension in the air and the need for its clarification and decided to allow the opportunity minus his presence.

As soon as the elder Aquila saw Lutorius close the doors to his bedchamber, he turned to Marcus; eyes glaring. Marcus inwardly admitted to himself never having seen his uncle in such a state and he regretted having been the cause of it.

“Now, Marcus… would you like to explain what makes you think you can disrespect a guest under my roof as you did Esca this evening?”

The problem was that Marcus could not offer his uncle any such explanation. Marcus had acted out of pure unadulterated jealousy; a feeling no decent Roman had any business feeling toward another man, much less a free man and a citizen of Rome. A feeling his uncle would not have understood, accepted, nor appreciated. A Roman lusting after a handsome young body slave was of no accord, but once that body slave was free he was off limits to his master. Or should be unless the master was soft, effeminate, in other words, a catamite. All qualities not befitting a Roman; especially not the hero of the Eagle of the Ninth.

No, there was no logical excuse Marcus could offer his uncle that would render his treatment of Esca reasonable. “I do not know, Uncle. Perhaps I am tired, as well. It is not as though I expected to find Esca here upon my return from town.” A poor excuse even in the telling of it.

“And because you are tired, and you did not expect his visit you act like a spoiled child? Marcus… I am proud of your achievements, of the man you are, and of what you have accomplished, but this night I find little to be proud of… I am humiliated.” Uncle Aquila did not wait for Marcus to utter another word in his defense, instead he turned away from his nephew and left Marcus standing in the middle of the triclinium alone.

Marcus suddenly felt the weight of his uncle’s words; the selfishness of his behavior. Not only had he mistreated Esca under his uncle’s roof, but he had disrespected not only Uncle Aquila, but Lutorius, as well. Both of whom were undeserving of such a thing, as was Esca.

Standing in the dim light of the rectangular room, with its painted hunting scenes decorating its walls, Marcus covered his face and shook his head. He had allowed his anger to get the better of him and there was no excuse for it. If Esca had found a woman of his own, what was that to Marcus. Loving him or not, Marcus no longer owned Esca, and what Esca did with his life was his own affair. The fact that Marcus had been unable to find his other half, or another love to take their place until his soulmate finally appeared, was not any fault of Esca’s. And the fact that he had caused his uncle to feel humiliated, as well as his disrespect of Lutorius, made Marcus ill.

“I must make amends to Esca, but not tomorrow… I must do so now! Even if it takes me searching every inn in Calleva until I find him. I cannot let him return to Eburacum without my apology, and without him knowing how I feel since I can offer no better reason for my behavior, even if it makes him hate and revile me until his dying day.”

Marcus made his way to the stables where he found his trusty Vipsania with eyes wide open as though she had been expecting him. “Apologies girl.” Marcus took hold of her reigns and walked the mare until out and onto the villa’s private road until they reached the main stone gate. Marcus then mounted her and off they went to Calleva, and his final meeting with Esca.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening, dear Ones. I have posted what was meant to be the last chapter of this story, but I have extended one more chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I also wish to thank all of you who have read it, and especially those who have left me those beautiful comments and kudos. You have no idea what that means to me!! I am forever grateful.
> 
> Elie

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I sincerely hope you've enjoyed this first part of the story.


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